Fan Fic and More

CHAPTER FORTY


September 5, 1947, 3:30 p.m.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt School



A door closed behind them; Dee jumped and whirled around. Anthony and Bright Sun paused, looking behind them.

"It was just a teacher closing their classroom door," Anthony said. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah. Sure. It just startled me, that's all," Dee said.

They resumed walking, Dee leading the way since she was the only one who knew where she was going. Anthony watched her with concern, noting the way her eyes darted left and right and how she always paused when approaching a corner so as to peek around it before proceeding. What was wrong with her? She'd told him what Rachel had said outside, and he shared Dee's opinion that Rachel was overreacting. Yet Dee wasn't acting like she thought Rachel was overreacting; she was acting like she expected trouble at any moment, and the further they advanced into the school, the more jumpy she seemed to get.

Granted, it was a little creepy now that the day was over and almost everyone else had gone home. The slightest sound seemed to echo in the empty hallways, including their footsteps on the tile floors. Here and there they passed a classroom with kids in detention, but most of the time it was hard to tell; classroom doors were usually closed whether they were empty or inhabited. Bright Sun didn't seem to share Dee's nervousness. She trotted along at Dee's heels, eager to find her brother, confident that Dee and Anthony would take her to him.

They rounded another corner, Dee slowing down and peeking around it again. Up ahead, a set of double doors loomed, and a sign overhead read "Gymnasium".

"It's in the middle," Anthony noted.

Dee nodded. "So's the library. That's so everyone can use them. We're on this side of the gym, and the junior and senior high are on the other side. We just need to cut through." As she spoke, she eased one of the double doors open, looked around carefully, and slipped inside, holding the door open for Anthony and Bright Sun.

The gymnasium was small, but it sported the usual polished wood floors and basketball hoops typical of gyms everywhere. Narrow windows were set high in the walls up near the ceiling. A short flight of stairs went up to the right just inside the double doors, and as Anthony walked in a bit further, he saw where they led.

"It's a stage," he said, looking at the dark red curtain closing the stage off from the rest of the room.

"This doubles as the auditorium," Dee explained. "They just set up scads of chairs, and then we have to take them all down again. It takes forev—"

She froze in mid-sentence as noise erupted from the other side of the room. Someone—a lot of someone's, from the sound of things—seemed to be heading for the gym from the older kids' side of the school.

"Someone's coming!" Dee hissed, grabbing Bright Sun by the arm and pulling her toward the stairs to the stage. "Up here!"

"Why?" Anthony asked. "So what if someone's coming?"

"Up here!" Dee commanded, gesturing frantically. She looked so frightened that Anthony humored her, even though he couldn't see any reason to hide.

Dee led them behind the deep red curtain and crept quietly toward the middle where the left and right curtains met. Crouching on the floor, she parted the curtains ever so slightly, her eyes wide. Bright Sun knelt silently on her left, and Anthony took a position behind her so he could look out too.

Nothing happened for a couple of minutes. The noises of people approaching grew louder, but they were still a ways away, which meant they were very loud indeed. Whoever it was was having a rousing good time judging from all the joyful whooping and hollering. Dee stared intently at the other side of the gym, breathing hard, balanced on the balls of her feet as though poised to flee.

Or fight. Looking at her, Anthony was forcefully reminded of the "fight or flight" syndrome he'd read about in one of his books, and he still couldn't figure out why. Was she taking Rachel more seriously than she'd let on? Rachel had been extra jumpy both yesterday and today, and even though Anthony had sympathized with Dee's disappointment over Rachel's behavior, he had also found himself sympathizing with Rachel. It was hard for social people like Rachel when others turned on them. Anthony himself had spent a great deal of time alone because he preferred his telescope and his models, pursuits other children usually didn't share, especially the boys. Dee was the first person, boy or girl, who liked the same things he did. The time they'd spent gazing at the sky or building their respective treehouses were some of the best times of his life. He'd never had anyone to share his passions with, and found it very satisfying indeed.

The sounds were very close now. Dee had stiffened; crowded close behind her, Anthony could feel her body going rigid. What was she so afraid of? Was she afraid of running into Trey and his gang and hearing more about that Denny person, something Anthony would like to hear about too? He'd wanted to ask her about that, but she hadn't felt like talking two nights ago, and she'd been so angry yesterday, he hadn't even bothered trying. Although she had seemed much better today, until just recently. Her mother's triumph last night at St. Bridgit's had done wonders for her disposition. There was absolutely no doubt in Anthony's mind that Mrs. Proctor had been behind Father O'Neill's prayer. Brilliant, just like Dee's new game at recess today. She was so much more effective when she wasn't so angry.

The noise reached a crescendo. As the three of them watched, the double doors on the far side of the gym were flung open, and a crowd of teenage boys spilled through. There must have been twenty of them, all laughing and chattering. Was this all they were hiding from? Anthony started to stand up, but Dee pulled him back down, her eyes still glued to the slit between the curtains.

And then the crowd parted, and a figure was heaved on the floor. The other boys surrounded it, their laughter turning hard, and suddenly Anthony knew why Dee was so antsy.

It was River Dog.



******************************************************


Eagle Rock Military Base




"Well, Corporal?"

Corporal Keyser was bent over the map of the Milky Way the alien had reworked, his eyes shining. "This is amazing!" he murmured, his hands shaking slightly as he pointed first to one feature of the new map, then another. "This means Harlow Shapley was right! He was Edwin Hubble's biggest rival, and he claimed the galaxy was at least ten times bigger than anyone thought...."

Ramey cleared his throat. Keyser looked up, chagrined. "Sorry, sir. It's just that this is.......well, frankly sir, this is without a doubt the most fantastic thing I've ever seen. Probably the most fantastic thing I'll ever see."

Across the table, Cavitt rolled his eyes. Pierce sat with his hands clasped in his lap, his thumbs tapping against each other. Major Lewis looked away in disgust.

Only Ramey smiled. "I'm glad to see someone is enjoying this for the sheer wonderment of it all," he said with a pointed look at the room's other inhabitants. "But I'm afraid Washington isn't interested in wonderment. Is that map accurate?"

" 'Accurate'?" Keyser repeated. "Well......it's hard to say. But......"

"You see?" Cavitt interrupted, stabbing a finger in Keyser's direction, who jumped. "I told you it would lie! It will say anything to get itself off the hook!"

"But that's not what I......." Keyser began.

"Oh, for God's sake, Sheridan!" Pierce exclaimed. "I got you an answer, and now you don't believe it? What the hell did you expect it to say? That it lived on the moon? No wonder it won't talk to you. Why should it? You won't believe anything it tells you anyway, so why make the effort?

"I never had the chance to get that far," Cavitt retorted. "If you will recall, the creature refused to answer me at all. At least it had the good sense not to lie to me the way it did to you. You just heard the Corporal say that isn't accurate!"

"But I didn't say that......." Keyser began again.

"I shouldn't be at all surprised to learn that the good doctor concocted this entire situation from the start," Lewis broke in, his eyes fastened on Pierce.

"What, now I made Sheridan shoot it?" Pierce said in exasperation. "Don't I wish I had that kind of control over him! Someone should—he certainly doesn't," he added, as Cavitt smoldered. "No, Bernard, even if your fiction were true, Major Cavitt had only to control himself to derail it, which he obviously didn't. But you're right about one thing: I am the 'good' doctor. I'll leave it to your paltry imagination to assign a designation to your own skills."

"Major Lewis's 'skills' are not in question here," Cavitt said angrily. "We can't trust a word that thing says. Not a word. If we want answers, real answers, we'll have to...."

"That's just the problem," Pierce interrupted. "You don't want answers. You want an enemy, and you'll stop at nothing to get one."

"Unfortunately, I have no need to 'get one'," Cavitt said sarcastically. "Those things are enemies, as evidenced by the fact that it just lied to us!"

"For the third time, I did not say that, sir!" Keyser fumed, beginning to go red in the face. "You haven't given me the chance to say anything yet!"

"And the sad part is, Major Lewis and I are two of the few who can see that," Cavitt continued, ignoring Keyser. "Instead we have you going on about 'establishing a rapport', and this...this child," he added derisively, gesturing toward Keyser, "barely old enough to shave, transported with joy about what he thinks he's learning about the universe when he's already admitted its lying, and......"

"I did not say that!" Keyser exploded, leaping to his feet and slamming his hands down on the table. "Would you just shut the hell up and listen to me?!"

"An excellent suggestion, Corporal," Ramey said dryly. "I, for one, would be delighted to 'shut the hell up and listen to you'. May I suggest the rest of us do the same?"

Keyser froze, his hands flat on the table, his eyes wide with horror. "I.....oh God, sir, I.........oh boy," he whispered, sinking into his chair. "General, I am so sorry....."

"At ease, soldier," Ramey said gently. "I understand your frustration, although I'd strongly advise you to find a different way of expressing it. I'll overlook it.....this time," he added, holding up a warning hand in Cavitt's direction just as the latter opened his mouth to protest.

"Yes, sir," Keyser said faintly, looking vaguely ill. "Thank you, sir."

"Now, Corporal—you are the only person in this room, on this entire base for that matter, who can make any sense out of that drawing, and I want to hear what you have to say. Is the information that map contains accurate?"

"Well...as you know, General, our knowledge of the galaxy is limited," Keyser began, visibly relaxing as he spoke, warming to his favorite subject. "So I can't tell you with absolute certainty that this is accurate—or that it's not," he added pointedly, as Cavitt gave a snort of satisfaction. "The same lack of information that prevents us from completely authenticating this also prevents us from debunking it."

"Understood," Ramey said. "Given what we already know and what we suspect, does this appear accurate as far as you can tell?"

"Yes," Keyser said firmly, as Pierce smiled and Cavitt scowled. "This confirms the existence of the 'arm' of the Milky Way that astronomers have long theorized, this narrow section where its planet is," he said, sweeping his finger across the drawing as he spoke. "And there are several other things here that I recognize from various theories, not exactly the way we theorized, but close enough to see that we were on the right track. The shape of the galaxy is correct, the size roughly what we calculated, the center where we thought it was, although we had no idea what was on the other side...."

"Never mind the details, son," Ramey interrupted. "What's your gut reaction?"

"My gut reaction? It's accurate."

"That was my gut reaction too," Ramey agreed. "Until I have reason to believe otherwise, I will assume this information is correct. Anyone who has a problem with that is welcome to make themselves available for reassignment."

No one moved or spoke. Pierce was positively beaming; Cavitt and Lewis exchanged irritated glances.

"You're dismissed," Ramey said to Keyser. "Quarters have been arranged for you in the main building—there's plenty more I'd like you to take a look at. I'll need a copy of that map to take back to Washington before 2000 hours."

"Yes, sir," Keyser nodded, gathering up his things. "And if I may say so, sir...." he hesitated, as Ramey waited expectantly. "If I may say so, sir, I am honored to be able to lend my services to such an important moment in our nation's history. Thank you."

"You're most welcome, son," Ramey said, smiling, gesturing toward the door. "Don't forget that map."

"I won't, sir," Keyser promised, heading out the door, his arms loaded with books and charts.

"That crayon drawing won't be enough, General," Major Lewis observed after Keyser had left. "It may suffice to please propeller-heads like that one, who want what they're seeing to be true so badly that they'll believe anything, but it won't satisfy cooler heads in Washington."

"And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you," Ramey said, fixing cold eyes on Lewis, "since you've spent so much time trying to stab me in the back."

"I was only doing what I thought best for our country," Lewis answered smoothly.

"Right. And I'm Judy Garland," Ramey said darkly. He rose to his feet. "I'll see the prisoner now. Alone."

Pierce and Cavitt exchanged startled glances before both began talking at once.

"But, sir!" Pierce protested, "I'm not even sure it's awake, or in any way prepared for visitors."

"Are you sure that's wise, sir?" Cavitt asked, every bit as agitated as Pierce.

Ramey smiled broadly. "Well, well. Would you look at this? I've finally hit on something you both agree on. Kind of makes me want to run down there twice as fast."

"Permission to inform my staff so they'll be ready—" Pierce began.

"Denied," Ramey interrupted. "This is a surprise visit, Doctor. Informing everyone ahead of time ruins the surprise. I'll bet you were no fun at birthday parties."

"At least let me put together a security detail for you, sir," Cavitt said.

"Don't worry, Major," Ramey said dryly. "It won't kill me. It had both motive and opportunity to kill you, and it didn't. Although I wouldn't be too surprised if it now regrets its restraint. I know I would."

Cavitt flushed as Ramey headed for the door. "All of you wait here," Ramey ordered. "After I meet with the prisoner, I'll be back with my final orders. No one leaves this room for anything; not to eat, not to pee, and especially not to use the phone. That means you," he added to Major Lewis, who flushed a color close to Cavitt's. "There'll be plenty of time to bitch to Washington after I leave. Besides, it's more economical to make one long distance phone call with a long list of complaints. Consider it doing your part to conserve Army resources."



******************************************************



Franklin Delano Roosevelt School



River Dog lay on the floor, panting, the crowd of white boys surrounding him. He could already feel one eye swelling, one of his teeth was loose, and his side ached from a well-aimed kick. Any minute now, he was certain he would be sick.

"C'mon, Injun—fight!" one of the white boys jeered, shoving him with his foot.

"Look at'im—doesn't even know how to fight back," one of them said with disgust.

"Maybe he's yellow," another offered. "Maybe he knows he'd lose."

"Stupid Injun," was another's brief contribution.

Curling into a fetal position, River Dog tucked his clenched fists close to his body so no one could see them. It was truly astonishing how foolish white men could be sometimes. There was nothing he would like better than to let fly at these arrogant fools, but he would not give in to the temptation. They wanted him to fight. They wanted him to lose control. You can't take what I won't give you, he thought grimly, swallowing hard as the contents of his stomach began to rise.

This had apparently occurred to at least some of the jeering crowd, as one of them stepped forward and knelt beside him. "Here's the deal, Injun," he said, as the others hushed to listen. "Seems our parents were too yellow to deal with you and that scrap of dirt you call a sister. So we're gonna do what they couldn't. Too bad their kids have to do their work for them, isn't it?"

Murmurs of approval rose, as heads bobbed in agreement.

"You're gonna fight," the boy went on, nodding vigorously as though River Dog were actively disagreeing with him. "If you don't, we're gonna make you wish you had."

"And if you can get away from us, we'll back off!" another boy said, smirking, as several others laughed at the notion that River Dog could escape.

"Yeah," the first boy said reasonably. "If you can do some of your Indian voodoo, or whatever it is you do, we'll let you off. How's that? Deal?"

The boy's face loomed closer, and River Dog was sorely tempted to spit at him....but that was exactly what they wanted. Don't give them what they want! he reminded himself fiercely.

"Well?" the boy demanded. "What's the matter? You speak English, don't ya Injun?" He prodded River Dog impatiently. "Say something!"

"I will not fight you," River Dog whispered, his voice so quiet that the others had to lean in close to hear.

"See? I told ya he was yellow," another boy said confidently.

But the leader had seen the look in River Dog's eyes, and now he grabbed him by the shoulders, twisting him around so he could look him in the eye. "Why not?" he demanded fiercely. "Why won't you fight us?"

River Dog gazed at his tormenter with his one good eye, the other having swelled almost completely shut. "Because you wish it," he whispered. "If I won't give you what you want…..you lose."

His suspicions confirmed, the leader pushed River Dog back down onto the floor and stood up. "Fight, Injun," he commanded, "or we'll beat the ever-loving crap out of you."



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Anthony watched, sickened, as the crowd surrounding River Dog crowded closer, their hands twitching eagerly. He's doomed either way, Anthony thought sadly; whether he chose to fight or not, River Dog was already injured and there were too many of them. Beside him, Bright Sun's eyes had gone wide with alarm, and Dee….well, Dee was mad. Again.

"Rachel knew, and she didn't tell us," she whispered furiously, her fingers white as she gripped the curtains. "She knew!"

"So did you," Anthony whispered, adding when Dee looked daggers at him, "you've been jumpy all the way down here. You knew something was up. How?"

Dee stared at him a moment before turning her attention back to the curtain, leaving his question unanswered. "Why doesn't he fight them?" she hissed. "The least he could do is try!"

"Because they want him to," Bright Sun said quietly. "Then they will blame my brother for starting the fight."

"Now, if these Indians cause trouble, that's one thing. But they haven't." Mr. Morgan's words rang in Anthony's mind, and his heart sank even lower. If River Dog made so much as a mark on anyone, they could easily say he started it. And then an Indian would have "caused trouble". That's what they were after.

"I'm going out there," Dee said suddenly.

"What?! No!" Anthony exclaimed, grabbing her by the arm and holding her back. "You can't go out there, Dee. You'll just get hurt too!"

"So you're just going to sit here and watch them beat up River Dog?" Dee demanded.

Anthony shook his head impatiently. "No, of course not. We need to go get help. Let's sneak down the stairs and out the door, and then we can run like hell and go get someone."

" 'Run like hell'?" Dee repeated scornfully. "That's your plan? Thanks, but no thanks. I like mine better." She started to stand up.

"Dee, no!" Anthony protested. "Look, there must be a couple of dozen teenage boys out there! We can't fight that many people!"

"I'm not going to fight them," Dee announced. "I'm going to distract them while you and Bright Sun go for help. Look," she continued when Anthony shook his head, "we can't wait for help to get here. He'll be a pancake by then! We have to do something now, or there won't be anyone left to help."

Anthony looked out through the curtain again. River Dog was still curled on the ground and the teenagers were still taunting him, apparently hopeful that they could make it look like he was the instigator.

"Fine," Anthony said. "I'll go out there, and you two go for help."

"No, I'll go out there while you two go for help," Dee said. "They're less likely to beat up a girl."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Anthony said. "I'm worried about you trying to beat up them. I'm going, and that's final."

"Who made you boss?" Dee retorted, starting to get up again.

Anthony pulled her back down, his healthy supply of patience wearing dangerously thin. "Look," he said tersely, his hands on her shoulders, "I haven't said anything these past couple of days even though you've been a pain. I stayed out of it with you and Rachel, and I stuck up for Bright Sun because I think you're right. But you're wrong on this one. Nobody should go out there. We can't do River Dog any good if we wind up on the floor like he is!" He paused for breath, fully expecting her to erupt.

But she didn't. "You don't get it," she whispered urgently, appearing dangerously close to crying. "I hid before. I ran before. And they died, Anthony. They died! Hiding and running didn't work. And I am not hiding and running again. Not this time."

Bright Sun's eyes were huge. "Who died?" she whispered, her fingers laced tightly around her necklace.

Shocked, Anthony's hands slipped from Dee's shoulders. "They died." He had a very good idea what she was talking about, but he couldn't ask in front of Bright Sun.....and he couldn't ask because he'd promised not to. Was this why she'd been so unreasonable the past couple of days, so willing to pick fights where she didn't have to?

"Dee," he said, more gently this time because she looked positively wild, ready to bolt at any moment. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know what happened to you. But I do know this—you're here now. And maybe the reason you're here now is because you ran and hid. Maybe……whoever….would have died anyway, and maybe if you hadn't run and hid, you'd be dead too. And that wouldn't have done anyone any good, would it?"

She didn't say anything, didn't answer him, just stared at him with those wild eyes. Anthony put one hand back on her shoulder; she was trembling. "Let's go get help," he said reasonably. "We're fast runners. We'll tell someone, then run back and bust it all up once we know help's on the way." Carefully, he took her hand. "Let's go."

Slowly, very slowly, Dee stood up. Bright Sun wasn't behind her, and Anthony looked around to see where she'd gone. But Dee found her first.

"Bright Sun!" she cried, bolting for the stairs, ignoring his protests. Looking through the curtain, Anthony saw Bright Sun running toward the mob, and a moment later, Dee charging after her. Damn! he cursed silently. Now what? Should he go out there with them? No, that wouldn't do any good; then there'd be no one to go for help. But he couldn't just leave them out there, could he? But what could he do if he joined them?

Anthony wrestled with himself a moment longer before reluctantly reaching a decision: He would go for help. That was the only chance any of them had of getting out of this in one piece. Silently, he walked to the side of the curtain and peeked out. The little staircase leading down from the stage was clear. He slipped out from behind the curtain, praying they wouldn't see him, and crept noiselessly down the staircase…..

……only to be collared as soon as he reached the bottom. One of the teenagers had been pressed up against the front of the stage, invisible from above. "Looky what we have here!" the teen crowed, practically lifting Anthony off the floor. "Another one!"

The leader of the pack looked none too pleased. "Check on the stage—make sure there aren't any more," he said angrily to another of the boys. "And bring him over here," he added to the teen who held Anthony.

Anthony sighed heavily he was dragged across the gymnasium. So much for all his arguing and hand wringing. In the end, Bright Sun had made the decision for all of them.

Since you're starting over posting this let me say how much I have loved this story so far! I'm still trying to catch up (I think I'm at part two, ch 9 in this one now), but every time I do find the time to sit down and read this series for awhile, I thoroughly enjoy it and then can't put it down for hours! 8) It's long but really, REALLY worth it!
I promise to leave more detailed fb soon!


Gerry

Gerry: I'm so glad you're enjoying it! Thanks for taking the time to keep up with it. I know it's long--leave it to me to tell a story that spans half a century. :mrgreen: Book 3 will make some pretty large "time jumps" (so we won't be slogging through every bit of the three years Jaddo was held captive), Book 4 jumps to 1959 and the age of Atherton and "Among Us", and Book 6 jumps to where the hybrids hatch. Book 7 brings us up to Seasons 1 & 2 of the show. It will end someday. I promise.





CHAPTER FORTY-ONE



September 5, 1947, 3:50 p.m.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt School




"So—what'da we do with them?" someone asked after Anthony had been unceremoniously shoved into the middle of the angry circle next to Dee. Bright Sun was on the floor beside River Dog, her arms protectively wrapped around him, her eyes still big as saucers. Dee was on River Dog's other side, mad as usual. River Dog appeared only semi-conscious at best.

"I say we show them what happens when they spy on people," the pack leader said darkly.

"We weren't spying," Anthony protested. "We were looking for River Dog."

"Well, I'd say you found him," another boy chuckled. A rumble of equally unpleasant mirth echoed from the crowd.

"Oh, you were just 'looking for him', were you?" the leader said. "Fine. Then we'll teach you not to go looking for people."

More chuckling. Anthony mentally gauged the distance to the nearest door, the number of boys he'd have to make if through, and the distance from the gymnasium to a hopefully populated area of the school, ultimately arriving at odds in the single digits.

"You hadn't better do a thing to us," Dee said defiantly, staring the pack leader straight in the eye. "That wouldn't be in your best interests."

"Whoo hoo!" the leader crowed, as murmurs of disbelief greeted this announcement. "Our 'best interests'? Such big words!" He knelt down beside her, smiling, enjoying her cheek. Bright Sun drew back, but Dee didn't budge. "So tell us about our 'best interests', since you know so much about them."

More laughter. At least they're laughing, Anthony thought. And at least Dee hadn't started throwing punches.

"You lay a finger on us, and we'll tell," Dee threatened. "We can identify all of you." She looked around the circle, deliberately letting her eyes rest for a moment on every single face, making her point. "What do you think's going to happen to you when people find out you beat up some white kids?"

Yes! Anthony thought. Dee had raised an excellent point: Now there were witnesses who could testify that River Dog hadn't started it, and that would ruin everything. Assuming the mob could figure that out, that is. Mobs weren't noted for being particularly analytical.

But the pack leader was shaking his head, smiling. "You've got it backwards. We're not going to beat you up—he is," he said, indicating River Dog.

"But we'll say he didn't," Dee pointed out. "We'll tell what we heard you say about making it look like he did it, and we'll tell everybody you did it!"

"And no one will believe you," the leader said with mock dismay. "See, I know who you are. You're that kid who's been sticking up for these redskins. Everyone knows that, so everyone knows you'd lie for them."

Anthony's heart sank. The kid had a point; ironically, their own efforts to stand up for the Indians could be used against them.

"And this is even better!" the pack leader said happily, spreading his arms wide to include all four of them in the center of the throng. "Now the Indian didn't just pick on people his own size; he picked on little kids. Little white kids. And he shouldn't have done that," he added regretfully, staring down at River Dog, who still hadn't moved.

Anthony swallowed hard as the crowd shuffled closer. Nice try, Dee, he thought sadly, but it didn't work. Dee's eyes were burning a hatred so intense it was almost palpable, and Bright Sun laid her head down on her brother in a gesture of defeat.

And then a window smashed. One of the gymnasium's windows high on the wall near the ceiling abruptly shattered, raining glass onto the floor several feet away. Everyone jumped, startled, and stared at the puddle of glass on the floor. A few of the teenagers crept closer to look, their eyes darting around nervously.

"How did that happen?" the leader demanded. Anthony glanced hopefully at the door, but there were still too many teenagers in the way.

"Don't know," one of the boys who was investigating said. "I don't see a baseball, or anything else that could've broken it."

"It doesn't matter," the pack leader said impatiently. "Get back here."

Another window abruptly shattered on the opposite side of the room. No sooner had every head swung in that direction then another broke on the first side, then another on the opposite side. Glass streamed into the room as the boys turned wildly left and right, trying to make sense of it. Anthony did too, equally mystified. No way could there be that many baseballs hitting at the same time with that kind of accuracy.

"What the hell is going on?" breathed one of the teens in alarm.

"The ancestors are angry," came a small voice.

Every head turned to Bright Sun, still draped protectively over River Dog. "What did you say?" the leader demanded.

"The ancestors are angry," Bright Sun repeated, never taking her eyes off him. "Our ancestors protect us from harm. They are angry that you have hurt River Dog, and they have come to stop you."

After a moment of stunned silence, the pack leader burst out laughing. Anthony noted, however, that he was the only one laughing; Bright Sun's announcement had produced worried looks on the other's faces.

" 'Ancestors'?" he crowed in disbelief. "You mean dead people? Ghosts? Oh, that's a good one!"

"The ancestors are angry," Bright Sun insisted.

"Oh, they are, are they?" the leader said, holding his hands to his face in mock terror. "We'll just have to see about that. Ancestors!" he called, addressing the air, "is she right? Are you angry? If you're angry, prove it! Break another window!"

Crash! More glass rained into the gymnasium as another window shattered. The leader's eyes narrowed in suspicion, while the expressions on the faces of the rest shifted from worried to alarmed.

"We should get outa here," one of the other boys mumbled.

"Bullshit!" the leader exploded. "It's a trick! There are no 'ancestors'!"

Crash! Another window exploded, louder this time. A tense, panicked silence filled the gymnasium.

"The ancestors are angry," Bright Sun said with absolute conviction.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



That's no ancestor, Dee thought, staring up at the ruined windows. She'd seen her own window shatter exactly the same way, so she had a different explanation for what was happening, one that the pack leader would no doubt find just as ridiculous as Bright Sun's.

<Brivari? Is that you?>

<My race is long lived,> came a slightly exasperated voice in her mind, <yet there are times I doubt I will ever live to see the day when you actually heed a warning. Why did you go looking for trouble? Don't you remember what your father told you last night?>

<I wasn't looking for trouble!> Dee protested. <I was looking for River Dog! And Daddy told me not to start anything, which I didn't, and not to go anywhere alone, which I haven't. And…..wait a minute,> she said suddenly. <How do you know what my father said last night? Were you eavesdropping again?>

<An interesting question from one who once admitted eavesdropping.>

<You didn't answer me,> Dee said severely.

<Later,> Brivari said shortly. <I find myself invoked again.>

Dee looked over at the leader, who had been engaged in a heated debate with the other boys about whether or not to abandon the whole enterprise against River Dog, and was now once again shouting challenges to the "ancestors". Another window promptly shattered, striking fear into more teenage hearts.

<You're running out of windows,> Dee observed. There were only six left, three on each side.

<Indeed,> Brivari mused. <I shall have to make good use of them.>

"It's a trick!" the leader was bellowing to the other teens. "They did this on purpose!" He flung a hand toward the Dee and the others, all of whom were still huddled around River Dog, who still appeared unconscious. "Everyone knows Indians do weird things, and this proves it! They're probably using some Indian voodoo, or something!" Boys on the fringes of the group began moving back in alarm as heads nodded in agreement.

Alien voodoo, you morons, Dee thought sourly. How could these idiots think a few fourth graders and an unconscious teenage boy were capable of breaking windows hundreds of feet above their heads? On second thought, perhaps that explanation was more believable than the truth.

As the leader bellowed yet another challenge, reiterating his disbelief in both ancestors and ghosts, all six windows exploded simultaneously, causing a rain of glass that made everyone, Dee included, dive for cover. When she looked up again, a few of the teens were edging for the doors as the pack leader and his core group glared at them.

<Now what?> Dee asked.

A mental sigh echoed through her mind. <Now they were supposed to have run in terror.....but these are proving harder to terrorize than expected. I suppose I shall have to resort to something more dramatic.>

<You mean smashing every window in the place wasn't dramatic?> Dee said.

The fire alarm went off. It was so loud that almost everyone immediately stuck their fingers in their ears, including Dee, Anthony, and Bright Sun. River Dog didn't even stir.

<Not bad,> Dee called to Brivari, <but I really think the windows were more dramatic.>

<I didn't do that,> Brivari admitted.

Dee looked around in alarm, her hand still clasped over her ears. <You mean there's a real fire?>

<I sense no combustion,> Brivari answered. <But you have a more immediate problem.>

Dee twisted her head around to see the leader and a large number of the other boys staring at them, having apparently resolved their differences. The leader stepped forward as they formed a wide, lose circle around River Dog and the three huddled around him.

"The fire department will be here soon, but it'll just take us a minute to finish what we started," he said—or rather shouted—confidently. He looked down at Anthony and Dee and Bright Sun with a thoroughly unpleasant smile. "Pull them off him."

Rough hands grabbed Dee, hauling her away from River Dog. Anthony and Bright Sun received the same treatment, Bright Sun sobbing and holding onto her brother so hard they had to peel her away. The three of them were dumped together a few yards off, surrounded by the mob.

<Brivari?> Dee called nervously. <Now's a good time for something more dramatic.>

The alarm abruptly ceased. This cheered the boys and granted a slight reprieve as the pack leader and a few others had a brief, disgusting spat about who would get to beat them up, since there were far too many applicants for the job and far too few victims. <Brivari?> Dee called again, as consensus was reached, and the chosen few closed in. <Brivari!>

<Close your eyes.>

<What?>

<I said close your eyes!>

"We have to close our eyes," Dee whispered to Anthony and Bright Sun, who both looked at her like she was nuts.

"Why?" Anthony asked incredulously. "No way am I just laying here and letting them beat me up, and I know you won't either. We can't fight back with our eyes closed."

"Just trust me, Anthony," Dee urgently. "Close your eyes!"

"No," Anthony said stubbornly. "We have to protect Bright Sun. If we both hold onto her really tight, maybe they won't be able to pull us off."

"Anthony, please!" Dee hissed. "Just shut up and close your eyes!"

<Now!> pounded a voice in her mind.

Dee flung her hands over both of their faces, hauling them down flat on the floor even as Anthony continued to protest, screwing her own eyes shut. Seconds later, white hot light flooded them, light so intense it seeped past her closed eyelids, blinding her even though her face was buried in Anthony's back. All around she could hear cries of anguish and the sounds of bodies hitting the floor. Both Anthony and Bright Sun threw their own hands up to their eyes, covering her own, and she gripped them more tightly, feeling her hands pressing Anthony's glasses into his face so hard she was probably hurting him. But it couldn't be helped. The light was so intense, it seemed to penetrate no matter what they did to stop it. Anyone who hadn't had their eyes closed would surely be blinded.

Seconds passed, and the light continued to blaze……..



******************************************************


Eagle Rock Military Base



"General!" exclaimed the startled guard inside the prisoner's room, snapping to attention and saluting so quickly he nearly dropped his rifle. "We weren't expecting you, sir!"

"At ease, Private," Ramey said, returning the salute. "I wouldn't want you to strain something."

Across the room the nurse had risen to her feet. "Good afternoon, General," she said as she saluted also. "It's good to see you again, sir."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Ramey answered, returning her salute. "You might very well be the only person in this entire compound who is."

She flushed as her hand dropped. She looked exhausted, the huge dark circles under her eyes bearing witness to Dr. Pierce's assertion that he and his team had been awake around the clock. Across the table at which she'd been seated was the alien, his elbows propped on the table as though he needed its sturdiness for support. If the Lieutenant looked bad, he looked worse; downright haggard, almost ill, worse than he had the first time Ramey had seen him. His expression had lost none of its sharpness, however; even exhausted, he still managed to be intimidating.

"I'm here to speak with Mr. Doe privately," Ramey announced. "You're both dismissed. Private, you're to take a post outside the door to the observation room. Make certain it's empty now, and that no one enters until I'm finished."

The guard nodded and left. "I'll be back as soon as you're done," Lieutenant White told the alien as she followed the guard toward the door.

"No," the alien replied in his typical curt tone. "You are exhausted. You should get some rest."

"I'll be fine," she insisted.

The alien's eyes flicked to Ramey's own, seeking his assistance. "I must concur with Mr. Doe," Ramey said gently. "Get some rest, Lieutenant. You look as though you could use some."

The Lieutenant flushed again as she glanced down at her rumpled uniform, but appeared unconvinced.

"I could make it an order," Ramey suggested helpfully.

That did it. The Lieutenant retreated after the guard, closing the door behind her with one last, protective look in the alien's direction. Ramey waited until both had gone before turning to the alien.

"You look awful," he said sincerely.

"You don't look well yourself," the alien replied.

Ramey chuckled as he took the seat recently vacated by the nurse. "You know, Mr. Doe, you could have saved all of us a great deal of trouble if you'd just given Major Cavitt the coordinates he asked for."

"I doubt it."

"Why's that?"

The alien settled back into his chair, moving slowly as though he were in pain, or very stiff. "You and yours must have discovered by now that the information I provided is unverifiable and virtually useless to you. No doubt your Major Cavitt has seized the opportunity to brand me a liar."

"He has," Ramey admitted, "although branding you a liar is a whole lot better than shooting you."

"That was inevitable," the alien said dismissively. "He's been waiting for an opportunity to attack me ever since I arrived. It was merely a matter of what he would use for an excuse."

"All the more reason not to give him one."

"You know perfectly well that no matter what I did or did not tell him, he would still have concocted an excuse to do just exactly what he did."

"And so now you're only willing to talk to Doctor Pierce?"

The alien's eyes narrowed. "Who told you that?"

"According to Dr. Pierce, the price you have set on revealing more information is that only he and his staff will be allowed contact with you. He claims that you have developed a rapport, that you 'trust' him."

"Oh, does he now?" the alien exclaimed in disgust. "Honestly, if I thought it were at all possible, I'd swear Pierce paid Cavitt to shoot me!"

"You might not be far wrong on that one," Ramey said dryly. "I take it you didn't make such a condition?"

"I certainly did not," the alien confirmed angrily.

"I thought as much," Ramey said. "In that case, I have to ask you to do so."

The alien stared at him in astonishment. "Did I understand you correctly? I don't trust Pierce any more than I trust Cavitt! He has his own agenda...."

"I know that," Ramey interrupted, "and it involves international prizes and getting published for his groundbreaking work on the physiology and psyche of another species. In other words, his agenda involves you being alive and well—he looses his advantage the moment you become injured or unconscious. Or dead," he added pointedly. "Pierce's agenda also disposes him to believe what you say, at least at first, while others would find it more helpful if you were proven wrong. Are you following me, Mr. Doe?"

"You want me to go along with this fiction," the alien said flatly.

"I want you to understand what you're up against," Ramey clarified. "What I'm up against. For every major player in this operation, there are at least twenty others angling for their job....and that includes mine. I have no desire to make you our enemy, but it's becoming increasingly difficult to protect you."

The alien was silent for a moment, his hands working in his lap, hands that Ramey noticed for the first time were trembling, whether from exhaustion, or rage, or both, he couldn't tell. "I have been here many weeks," he said bitterly, "and I have done as you asked. I have submitted to Pierce's endless tests and idiotic exercises. I answered those questions of Cavitt's that you had some way of verifying. I even refrained from breaking his neck," he added, in a tone which suggested he regretted that particular decision. "Has this not been sufficient?"

"Sufficient for me—yes," Ramey said. "But you're not just dealing with me. The list of people who know of your existence has tripled since you were first brought here....."

"Your euphemism for 'captured', I presume?"

"Semantics," Ramey said impatiently. "The point is that more people who know means more demands, more expectations, more voices in the mix, not to mention those who want you executed because they find you too dangerous to hold. I can order those under my command as I see fit, but......"

"......but you must answer to your superiors," the alien finished for him. "And they can relieve you of duty if they see fit."

"Yes. Exactly." Ramey leaned in closer. "They have all but ordered me to make some staff and policy changes in this compound which are definitely not in your best interests. I can't stop this, but you can: By controlling their access to the one thing they want most."

"Information," the alien whispered.

Ramey nodded. "I need you to go along with Pierce's assertion about the demands you've made, galling as that may be." He removed a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and spread it on the table. "And I need you to sign this statement, which verifies that you refuse to cooperate with anyone but Pierce. It has to come from you. Do you know what it means to 'sign' something?"

The alien stared at the paper in front of him with distaste. "Of course I do. But why do I feel like I would be signing my own death warrant?"

"You already made a deal with Dr. Pierce. Has he kept his end of the bargain?"

The alien's eyes flicked upward. "What do you mean?"

"There was something missing in Dr. Pierce's report about your earlier altercation when he placed you in solitary confinement," Ramey noted. "He claims you capitulated quickly, but I can tell that's not your style. He also claims he offered you unlimited access to Lieutenant White, but I can't imagine him doing that." Ramey paused. "I think you made a counteroffer....or perhaps I should say a 'counterthreat'. Pierce will never admit that, of course, but no matter; you took a threat and turned it into an advantage. Well done."

The alien was silent, regarding him levelly, neither confirming nor denying anything Ramey had said. Ramey removed a pen from his pocket and held it out. "You obviously know how the game is played. Play the game again, Mr. Doe. For both our sakes."

The pen hovered in the air, the alien watching it as one watches a snake. Finally he took it and scrawled on the paper, shoving it back toward Ramey. "Does all this mean I do not meet with your President?"

Ramey sighed and refolded the paper, noting that the alien had signed his name as "John Doe". "I won't lie to you. Our President is not even aware of your existence."

"I thought you said he was your 'Commander in Chief'? Do humans always keep intelligence of this magnitude from their Commander?"

"All the time," Ramey admitted ruefully. "There are those of us attempting to reverse that, but so far we have not been successful. I'd tell him myself, but doing so would result in some unfortunate.....consequences."

"I would wind up dead," the alien said softly, "to cover their tracks."

"You and me both," Ramey said darkly. "Now—I need one more thing from you. You've already pointed out that the coordinates you gave us are of no practical use to us, accurate or not. News of this will reach our capital city long before I return there tonight. I need something else to bring to my superiors, something not so ephemeral. Something they're not expecting. Something only I have."

The alien's eyes flicked upward again, higher this time, toward the empty observation room window. "That is why you are here alone," he murmured. "So your enemies do not have the chance to preempt you."

"Right again," Ramey said. "You're a quick study." He reached into his pocket, wrapping his hand around the cold, unfamiliar object inside. There were so many artifacts from the ship, hundreds of them, thousands really, but this one had caught his eye, plus it had the advantage of being easily concealed within a pocket. He couldn't risk anyone learning what he was up to before he reached Washington, couldn't risk anyone undermining him before he'd even had a chance. He needed a surprise, and this would do nicely.

He removed the heavy, silver, football-shaped object and placed it on the table between him and the alien, the swirling black lines on what appeared to be its top facing the ceiling. The alien's eyebrows rose.

"What is this," Ramey asked the alien, "and what does it do?"




******************************************************



Franklin Delano Roosevelt School



Sprawled on the floor, River Dog stirred. He heard shouting, screaming, felt several thuds as something hit the ground several times. He tried to open his eyes, but was stopped by the twin problems of his swollen left eye and an impossibly bright light, painful in its intensity. After a minute or so the light subsided, slowly rather than abruptly, and River Dog managed to open his right eye, only to find an incredible sight.

He was still on the floor of the school's gymnasium. There was glass all over the floor; the windows he could see had been broken. Several feet away lay his sister and another boy, encircled in the arms of a girl who lay between them. His oppressors were scattered all over the room, writhing on the floor, their hands pressed to their eyes, moaning in pain.

And in the midst of this tableau stood a man only a few yards away. Silhouetted by the sunlight streaming in the windows behind him, he alone was not in pain or covering his eyes, and it was not hard to see why. Even in the darkness of a silhouette, his bearing, his very posture radiated power. He had done this; whoever this man was, for some reason he had laid the others low and left River Dog unscathed.

The man gazed at River Dog for a moment, then turned and began to walk away.

"Wait!" River Dog called. He had meant to shout, but his voice came out as a croak. "Who are you?"

The man paused, his back still to River Dog.

"Are you an ancestor?" River Dog asked. "Or a guardian spirit?"

The man remained silent, giving no indication he had heard other than the fact he hadn't moved.

"Who are you?" River Dog whispered again.

A long moment passed, so long that River Dog had decided the man would not answer him. This was not unexpected; spirits often refused to reveal themselves even after performing miracles. So he was surprised when the man finally spoke.

"I am a visitor," he said a low voice, "who sympathizes."

And then he was gone, seeming to vanish into the distance just as a spirit would. Fire sirens sounded faintly in the distance as River Dog stared at the place where the man had stood, trying to remember him, to memorize every detail. Finally, exhausted, he laid his head down on the floor again and closed his eyes as everything went black.





~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'll post Chapter 42 next Sunday.

Only three more chapters (including this one) and we begin a new part that jumps two months ahead to the end of October. (Halloween, actually. Prime time for alien costumes in the Roswell area in 1947. )





CHAPTER FORTY-TWO


September 5, 1947, 5:00 p.m.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt School



Dee Proctor sat alone on the playground bench watching Anthony give his version of what had happened to one of the two sheriff's deputies, neither of whom she knew. Sheriff Wilcox must still be having trouble finding deputies. She'd already given her spiel, dutifully pointing out each and every one of the teenagers who had been involved, all of whom were now splayed around the playground, groaning and shielding their eyes. River Dog had been taken away in an ambulance, and Bright Sun had been ferried home by one of the school staff. She'd overheard one of the ambulance attendants saying that River Dog had a broken arm and a lot of bruises, but that he'd be okay, so she was grateful for that. She'd called to Brivari several times, but received no answer. Either he'd left or he was merely watching silently, back in the eavesdropping mode that annoyed her so much, and had saved their skins today.

Brivari's light had been so intense that Dee had remained on the floor with her eyes screwed tightly shut and her hands clasped over Anthony's and Bright Sun's faces long after she couldn't feel it any more. When she had finally dared to crack an eyelid, what she'd seen had been incredible. River Dog still lay on the floor, his eyes closed, seemingly oblivious. And all the teenage boys were on the floor too, every single one of them, moaning in pain with their hands over their eyes. She hadn't been surprised; the light had been so strong with her eyes closed that she could only imagine what it would do to someone whose eyes had been open when it first flashed. For a moment, she'd felt almost sorry for the boys, who'd tangled with something they probably couldn't even imagine. But it was only a moment, and it passed quickly. They'd gotten what they deserved.

And then the firemen had arrived, astonished at the scene in the gym. River Dog, beaten and bloody, she, Anthony, and Bright Sun huddled in a pile, the boys on the floor moaning, all the windows broken, glass everywhere—it was quite a sight. She'd lost no time telling the firemen what had really happened, and one of them had called Sheriff Wilcox and an ambulance while the rest looked for signs of a fire. It turned out there was no fire, and no one knew who had pulled the alarm or why. The office staff had turned it off when they couldn't find who'd pulled it, but the fire department still had to come and check. Thank goodness.

So now Dee was just waiting for Anthony to finish with the deputies so they could go home. She'd already been to the school office where she'd called her Mama, assured her she was all right, and further assured her that she hadn't been the cause of the fracas. She wasn't sure her mother believed that, but more alarming had been her decision to march down to the school immediately.

"People are saying some weird things happened," Dee had said cryptically, hoping her mother would get the message, one of the school secretaries only inches from her elbow. "So the Sheriff's deputies are asking a lot of questions. They're almost finished, and then I can come home. You don't need to come."

"Hoo boy," Emily had puffed into the phone. "I take it our guest has been busy?"

"Yup," Dee had confirmed.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Positive. Thanks to who you just mentioned."

Thankfully, her mother had agreed to stay put. Minimizing the number of Proctors around anything alien related was always a good idea.

"Psst! Dee!"

Dee turned around. She could just make out the toe of a shoe sticking out from behind the tree near the bench. Cautiously, she stood up and headed for the tree.

"Rachel? What are you doing here?"

"Are you all right?" Rachel asked in a hushed voice, ignoring Dee's question. She was plastered behind the tree, darting frightened looks toward the dozens of people who now filled the playground, lured by the sound of the sirens.

"Yeah, I'm all right," Dee answered. "But…."

"What about Anthony? And Bright Sun?"

"They're all right too," Dee said. "But…"

"And….and River Dog? Did you find him?"

"We found him," Dee said. "Being beaten to a pulp by a bunch of teenagers in the gym. But the fire alarm went off, and the fire department showed up and stopped them," she finished, leaving out the real source of their deliverance.

"I know," Rachel said, looking extremely guilty.

"Rachel, what are you doing here? You were on your way home."

"I came back," Rachel said, her eyes still shifting left and right as though she expected someone to jump out at her at any moment. "I….." She paused and swallowed hard. "I pulled the fire alarm."

"You pulled the alarm?" Dee repeated in disbelief. "Why?"

"Because I'd heard that someone was planning to hurt the Indians," Rachel said miserably. "But I didn't know who, or where or when….it wasn't anything a grown-up would have listened to. That's why I told you not to look for River Dog. I figured he was late because someone had already gotten to him, and I didn't want all of you mixed up in it. But then you went anyway, and I waited for you for a long time. I even went over to the high school, but they hadn't seen you." Rachel's eyes widened at the memory. Going over to the high school was one of the scariest things a grade schooler could do. "So I pulled the alarm, hoping that would stop whatever was happening," she continued. "I used the one right outside the office, and I ran as fast as I could after I'd pulled it. I couldn't let them catch me, because then they'd want to know where I'd seen the fire. I wanted them to search the whole school, not just one spot."

Dee listened to this recital in shock. It was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Why hadn't she and Anthony thought of pulling an alarm? Here she'd been thinking Rachel was such a coward, and she'd gone and done something really brave.

"Pulling the alarm was a great idea, Rachel," Dee said sincerely. "I wish I'd thought of it."

Rachel stared at her in surprise. "Really?"

"Really. After we found River Dog, we were arguing about what to do. We never thought of pulling the alarm."

"You didn't?" Rachel was flabbergasted. "But—it was so obvious! And you're always the one with all the ideas."

"Not today," Dee smiled. "You saved us."

Rachel broke into a wide smile as Dee privately wondered whether Brivari was listening. It wasn't Rachel who had saved the day, of course, but if Brivari hadn't been there, Rachel's alarm would still have helped. She'd done some really scary things today; scary for her, anyway. Let her think she'd saved the day. She deserved it.

"Now get out of here," Dee commanded, looking over at Anthony, who was heading back their way. "No one knows who pulled the alarm, and there's no reason to tell them."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," Dee said firmly. "If they find out you did it, they'll want to know why, and what you heard, and who you heard it from, and a million other details. And they don't need to. They've got the people who did it; there's no reason for you to go through that."

Rachel, who had blanched at the mention of everything people would want to know, nodded hastily and scurried away. She was long gone and Dee was back on the bench before Anthony arrived.

"What happened?" Dee asked when he reached the bench.

"I told them everything we saw, just like you did," he replied. "I think they believe us about the boys trying to beat us up and blame River Dog. I said I don't know how the windows broke the way they did or what caused the light. They want to know why you, me, and Bright Sun don't have sore eyes like everyone else. I told them we must have just closed our eyes faster."

Dee looked sideways at Anthony. Fortunately, only he and Bright Sun had heard her warning about the light, and Bright Sun had been much too distracted to notice that Dee had known what was going to happen before it happened. Anthony must have noticed, but he hadn't asked about it—yet. He'd promised not to ask....but he couldn't keep that promise forever. And she'd promised not to tell....but she couldn't keep that promise forever either. Besides, it was looking more and more like Anthony deserved to be told at least something. One of these days, she was going to have a hard decision to make.

"So now they're going to arrest the boys, right?"

"Um…I don't know," Anthony said carefully.

Dee looked at him suspiciously. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I overheard the deputies talking," Anthony said, lowering his voice and leaning his head in toward hers, "and it didn't sound good. I guess they think that beating up an Indian isn't a reason to arrest all those boys."

"What?" Dee exploded, springing to her feet. "Do you mean to tell me that after all we went through, they're just going to let them go?"

"Wait!" Anthony said urgently, grabbing her arm as she started to sprint away. "It's not up to the two deputies we talked to—they're new. It's up to the other one they just sent from the sheriff's office……."

But she wrenched away from him and marched off, ignoring his calls pleading for her to come back, that he had something else to tell her, something she should know. We'll just see about this, she thought darkly. She knew all of Sheriff Wilcox's regular deputies, so if it was any of them, they might listen to her. Or to her parents, whom she was certain would agree those boys should be punished.

Rounding a corner into the parking lot, Dee nearly bumped into the second Sheriff's cruiser, wedged in between the fire truck and the first cruiser. Three deputies were locked in a heated argument just behind the car, the two she'd already met and a the new arrival, whose back was to her. Maybe it was Deputy Woods. Or maybe Sheriff Wilcox had come down himself.

The new deputy turned around, and Dee reflexively ducked behind the cruiser so he wouldn't see her. Valenti! Why him? Of all the deputies they could have sent, why did it have to be him? Why couldn't they have sent someone she knew? Or at least someone who would have sympathized? Instead she had Valenti, not exactly the champion of the oppressed and protector of everyone different. He was probably mad because the other deputies had kept all those high school boys around for so long just because they'd beat up an Indian.

The argument had paused, all three deputies glaring at each other. It only took Dee a moment to reach a decision. After everything they'd been through—after everything River Dog had been through—she couldn't just walk away and say nothing while they let those boys off the hook. She began to rise from her crouched position, prepared to kick up one hell of a fuss if she had to.....only to duck back down as Valenti whipped around and slammed his hat down on the trunk of the car.


******************************************************


"I can't believe this!" Valenti exclaimed to the sullen deputies, who had both jumped at his outburst. "I can't believe you were ready to let them all go!"

"Calm down, Jim," Deputy Edwards said. "It's just an Indian."

"Don't 'just an Indian' me!" Valenti said angrily. "Someone under our protection was assaulted on our watch! Doesn't that mean something to you?"

"Look, with all the talk about bright lights and windows breaking by themselves, we can't tell for sure what happened," Deputy Davidson said reasonably. "What are we going to arrest them for?"

Valenti flung himself around in exasperation, planting his hands on the trunk of the car, trying to rein in his temper. What was the matter with these people? Hadn't they heard a word anyone had said during their training, assuming they'd shown up for it to begin with? However desperate Wilcox was for employees, there was no excuse for so-called deputies who didn't seem to know even the barest essentials of their job.

"Let me get this straight," Valenti said in a barely controlled voice. "You have a victim who's been beaten six ways to Sunday. He's sporting a broken arm, a black eye, multiple bruises, and God knows what else. You've got a bunch of teenagers without a scratch on them with weird stories about lights and windows. And you've got three witnesses who say they saw this group of boys attacking the victim. How am I doing?"

There was an uncomfortable silence. "Well, the boys say that the Indian was going to attack the three witnesses, and they stopped him," Edwards said awkwardly.

"Just how early yesterday were you born?" Valenti snapped. "I hear one of those witnesses was the Indian's own sister. Would he be attacking his own sister? And why would a group of eighteen high school boys have to beat the ever-loving shit out of one Indian just to pull him off of anyone? Ever heard of 'excessive use of force'?"

"Look, Valenti, something weird was goin' on in there," Davidson protested. "Most of those boys' eyes are still sensitive to light. They're seein' halos around things and spots in front of their eyes. Something happened to them, something we can't explain. And no one can figure out how all the windows broke."

"And we can continue to pursue that," Valenti countered. "But first things first. We have an assault victim with serious injuries, and we have witnesses to the attack. And even if I did believe that cock-n-bull story about the boys trying to 'save' those witnesses, that doesn't justify that kid's injuries. That mob is still in deep trouble."

"Aren't we getting' all worked up over nothin'?" Edwards asked. "It's an Indian, Valenti. Shouldn't even be here, if you ask me. I'm not saying that's a reason to do what those boys did, or that it's right. But I'm just not comfortable giving all those boys a record for an Indian. Why don't we call their parents to come get'em, and giv'em a talkin' to, and see if that doesn't do it?"

"Besides, it'll take forever to book that many people," Davidson complained. "Hours, probably. I'm off at six, which means…."

"Damn it!" Valenti slammed his hand down on the trunk, causing both deputies to back up a step. "Let's review a few things. We are Sheriff's deputies. We are here to serve the people. To protect the people. Pay attention to that phrase, 'the people'. I didn't say 'some of the people', or 'the people who look like us', or 'the people we like'. I said the people. That means all of the people, all of the time. That means white people, and black people, and Indian people, and Asian people, and….hell, Edwards, that even means assholes like you."

Edwards flushed. Davidson just looked sullen.

"A law was broken here today," Valenti continued in a raw, angry voice. "No one—and I mean no one—has the right to assault another person the way that Indian boy was assaulted. I don't care what they think he did, or was going to do, or might do in the future. There is no excuse for that level of violence. And there is no excuse for those who are supposed to administer justice looking the other way because they're off at six!"

Silence. Edwards was now sulking just like Davidson.

"So here's what we're going to do," Valenti continued. "We're going to haul each and every one of their sorry asses down to the station and book them on charges of assault. I don't care if it takes us past six. I don't care if it takes us the whole damned night. Is that clear?"

"Damn, Valenti," Edwards muttered. "That's a lot of fuss for an Indian."

"This isn't about your personal opinion," Valenti retorted. "This is about the letter of the law. A law was broken, so we arrest the people who broke it. That's our job. It's that simple. And believe me, you'll thank me for this, gentlemen. I know you haven't had a chance to meet Sheriff Wilcox yet, but if you don't take those kids down and book them, he'll have your nuts for breakfast."

"All right, all right," Davidson sighed in exasperation. "Let's get started. What do you want us to do with the witnesses? They've all given statements."

"They're still here?"

"The Indian girl was driven home. The others are still here, I think. Two white kids, a boy and a girl." He leafed through the stack of papers in his hands. "Anthony Evans and Deanna Proctor."



******************************************************



"You want them down at the station too?" a voice was asking.

Silence. Papers rustled. Her back pressed against the right rear tire of the cruiser, Dee closed her eyes and waited for Valenti to put it all together with less dread than she would have before. Never in a million years would she have expected him to champion her side of things with the vehemence he just had.

"No," Valenti said, his voice hushed now. "I'll take them home myself, and then come back to help you two out. You go start booking all those boys."

Footsteps crunched away. She peeked over the edge of the cruiser; Valenti still had his back to her, immersed in the various papers he'd been handed, standing stock still as he read them. She knew he was reading all the reports with new eyes, reevaluating everything in light of her involvement. Nothing could be proven, and anyone else would probably have just let it drop....but not Valenti. He knew too much to just let this go. He would find her, and she would have to tell him something. She could put it off, but she couldn't avoid it.

Recalling her earlier decision, Dee stood up. There was a lot to be said for making this happen on her own terms. Valenti would have a lot of questions, but that was all right, because she had a lot of questions herself. It was really too bad he wasn't on their side. Especially since it turned out that his own views, about humans at least, were right on par with her own.

Valenti finished reading, closed the folder which held the stack of papers, and turned away from her, scanning the schoolyard behind them. Dee knew he was looking for her.

"Hello," she said, as Valenti whirled around in shock. "Looking for me?"



******************************************************



"Here you go, Mr. Evans," Deputy Valenti said cheerfully. "Curbside service."

The sandy-haired boy seated closest to the passenger door took a long look at the middle occupant of the front seat. "Wanna come in for a bit?" he asked hopefully.

Dee Proctor shook her head. "No, thanks. After dinner. The usual place."

The boy nodded reluctantly, opened the car door and climbed out, pausing with his hand on the door. "Why don't you get out here too? Your house is right up there."

"I'm fine, Anthony," Dee said calmly. "I'll see you later."

Valenti suppressed a smile as the boy reluctantly walked away, throwing glances back at the cruiser as he headed up his front walk. Young Mr. Evans had been plainly horrified when Miss Proctor had informed him that they would both be riding home with Valenti, and had spent several anxious minutes trying to diplomatically talk her out of it. Valenti gave the kid honest points for his concern and tenaciousness, even though he ultimately failed—ride home with him they did, with Valenti a curious mixture of excited and apprehensive about this sudden turn in the road.

After Anthony was safely inside his house, Valenti moved the car forward, stopping halfway between the Evans's and Proctor's houses. The last thing he needed was for Emily Proctor to look out her front window and see her daughter sitting in the front seat of his cruiser. He shifted to park, turned off the engine, and turned to look at his passenger, who was giving him one of her trademark level stares. Weird, Valenti thought. He'd pursued this child in various ways for the past two months, never managing to get close to her. Now she had come to him....and he hadn't the faintest idea why.

"Well?" Valenti said finally, eager to break the awkward silence.

"Well what?" she asked calmly, still not having moved a muscle toward getting out of the car.

"Well….what are we doing here?"

"You have some questions for me, don't you?"

Valenti smiled. "And since when are you willing to answer my questions?"

"I have some questions for you too," she announced. "And since we both have questions, I propose a trade."

"A trade?" Valenti echoed. "What kind of trade?"

She twisted sideways in the seat to face him. "The same kind of trade we kids use when we're trading secrets. Here's how it works: We take turns asking each other questions. You don't have to answer, but each time you don't, the other person gets to ask another question. They can keep asking until they find one you're willing to answer. So if you never answer, you never get to ask."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch," she said firmly. "And you only get to ask one question on each turn. No twofers. Either one of us can call it quits as long as both of us have had an equal number of chances. And I go first."

"Why do you go first?"

"Because you want to know more from me than I want to know from you."

"I see," Valenti said slowly, wondering what she could possibly want to know from him. He considered a moment. "I gotta tell you, Miss Proctor, that sounds like an awfully one-sided 'trade'."

She shrugged. "Take it or leave it."

"If I 'leave it', then you don't get your questions answered," he pointed out.

"That's okay with me," she replied calmly. "I'll just go home and pretend we never talked. But what about you? You've been trying to get at me for ages now. Can you really pass this up?"

Valenti stared at her in disbelief for a moment before breaking into laughter. Incredible. At the ripe old age of nine, she was calling the shots.....and she knew it.

"You're laughing at me," she said accusingly.

"No!" Valenti protested. "No, no, not at all. I'm laughing at the situation, that's all."

"I'm serious," she insisted.

"Oh, I know that," Valenti assured her. "I know that very well. And you're absolutely right—this is too good of an offer to pass up. Even if it is one-sided."

"It's only one-sided in the beginning because I start first. But after that we take turns, and we each get the same number of turns."

Valenti held up a hand. "Okay, okay—a bit one-sided. I accept your offer," he said solemnly. "So you're up first. Shoot."

"Is it true what you said to those other deputies back there about River Dog? About it being your job to protect all the people?"

Valenti blinked in surprise. This was her question? A question important enough to risk exposing herself to him? But then she had been in the act of trying to protect the Indians when the fire department had arrived, so perhaps the notion of letting the teens off the hook had been enough to push her over the edge.

"You heard that?"

"All of it. Even the part about having to protect assholes like that deputy."

Valenti looked away, flushing. Of course she had to have heard that. "I...I guess I was angry, and said some things I shouldn't have," he allowed. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't repeat that."

"Repeat what?" she asked innocently.

"Right," Valenti said. "Thank you." God, she was quick. "Now....what I said—the other part, I mean—was absolutely true. Everyone in law enforcement has a responsibility to protect every American citizen—we don't get to pick and choose. We even have to protect people who break the law, like those boys did."

"What about people who aren't American citizens?"

Valenti's eyebrows rose. Was this going where he thought it was going? "I do believe that's another question, Miss Proctor. You said no twofers."

Her face clouded as she realized she'd been caught by her own rules. But only for a moment. "Okay. Your turn."

"The handyman you helped out at Chamber's Grocery back on the Fourth," Valenti said. "What happened that morning?"

He watched her carefully to see how she would react, but she never so much as blinked. "Not much," she answered casually. "I showed him the way downtown. Denny Miltnor and his gang tried to steal the food, and he stopped them. And then we went back to the store."

"And where did he go then?"

"I don't know. He just left with the food Mr. Chambers said he could have."

"Did he have a name?"

"Yup. James."

"James?"

"Uh-huh."

"James what?"

"Beats me. He just told me to call him James."

"And when he... 'stopped' Miltnor and the rest of them from pilfering from Mr. Chambers' truck, how did he do that?"

"He told them to stop, or he'd make them stop."

"That's it? He just 'told them' to stop?"

She thought a moment. "Yeah. That's it."

"So I take it you don't agree with the tales Miltnor's friends were telling about what this 'James' could do?"

"I don't know. What did they say he could do?"

Valenti paused, frustrated. This kid was slipperier than a member of the Mafia; she'd just keep repeating that she didn't know, and he had no way of proving otherwise. Time for some hardball.

"There's a funny thing about this 'James', Miss Proctor. The handyman who showed up on the Fourth was not the same handyman that Mr. and Mrs. Chambers had hired. That handyman never showed up. I have witnesses who place him in Santa Rita on the Fourth."

"So?"

"So who was the man who actually did show up at Chambers' on the Fourth?"

She shrugged indifferently. "How should I know? I don't know who Mr. Chambers hired or didn't hire. Ask him. I'm just a kid."

Like hell you are, Valenti thought sourly, realizing he'd hit another dead end. She hadn't betrayed so much as a flicker of emotion at anything he'd said, hadn't looked startled, or guilty, or worried. He'd met bona fide criminals who couldn't pull off a poker face like hers.

"Denny's friends say they saw you and your 'James' together at the carnival the night Denny was killed," Valenti said, watching her closely. "What do you know about that?"

"He wasn't 'my James'," she replied, returning his stare, "everyone in town was at the carnival, and that's another question, Deputy Valenti."

They stared at each other a moment, Valenti tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He was on even shakier ground here, largely because she was right—just about everyone had been at that carnival, so the handyman's presence there was unremarkable. No one had seen her and Miltnor together, or Miltnor and the handyman together, so that avenue was closed too. Another dead end.

"Fair enough," Valenti said finally. "Your turn."

"Do you also have to protect people who aren't American citizens?"

Valenti eyed her a moment, suddenly realizing two things: She was heading exactly where he'd thought she was, and perhaps he'd been going about this all wrong. Perhaps the way to get information in this game was to let her ask questions instead of watching her run circles around his own.

"Well....that depends."

"On what?"

"On where they're from, what kind of relations their country has with ours, whether our laws are very different or not. Stuff like that. And they need papers that give them a legal right to be here."

"Why do they have to have papers?"

Valenti sighed. "Look, Miss Proctor.....the fact is, people just can't up and come to the United States. No matter how they get here." Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't interrupt. "If someone isn't a U.S. citizen, they have to have permission from our government to be here. And if they don't have that permission, then they're here illegally, and I have an obligation to arrest them. It's that simple."

"Okay, so you have to arrest them. But can you hurt them?"

"No," Valenti admitted. "That's never allowed. Internationals may not enjoy all the rights we Americans do, but if they're on American soil, there are certain laws that apply."

"And what if someone else tried to hurt them? Would you have to protect them?"

Valenti stared out the front windshield, feeling her eyes boring into him, waiting for an answer. He already knew what the answer was, and he also knew he'd been effectively, systematically backed into the proverbial corner without her having given up a blessed thing. Perhaps a little candor was in order.

"It's my responsibility to protect every human within my jurisdiction, whether or not they are a citizen of this country," he said, swinging his gaze toward hers. Surely she'd react to that. She'd have to.

No such luck. "What if you saw someone hurting an animal?" she demanded. "What if those boys were beating a dog? Would you have to protect the dog?"

"Well.....yes, but that's because there are laws—"

"But you said human," she reminded him. "The dog isn't human. So it's not just humans you have to protect."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it!" Valenti protested.

Her eyebrows rose. "Really? What did you mean?"

Valenti stared at her a moment, then shook his head in disbelief. "Miss Proctor, you're way over your one question limit, aren't you?"

"Okay," she said, not bothering to argue the point. She'd gotten what she wanted—she'd maneuvered him into admitting he had obligations to more than just the human race, so she could afford to be magnanimous. "Your turn."

"What happened back there, with all the windows breaking and that bright light?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I didn't see anything that would have broken the windows, and I have no idea what the light was. We were all on the floor with our eyes shut because it was so bright. No one else knows what happened either, so why would you think I would?"

"Here's the deal, Miss Proctor," Valenti sighed, tiring of the cat and mouse game. "Weird things happen when you're around. People get thrown against walls without anyone touching them, windows break, strange lights flare. You have to admit it's all very odd."

"You think I did all those things?"

"No. No, I don't. But I think you know who did. And I think you know why."

"Well, 'why' isn't hard to figure out."

"It isn't?"

She looked away, toward her house, and Valenti followed her gaze, his stomach flip-flopping when he saw Emily Proctor stick her head out the door and glance briefly left and right before withdrawing inside. If she saw them, she'd never believe her daughter had come to him willingly....and he apparently wasn't the only one who thought so. "Time's up," Emily's younger version announced. "You don't want my mother to find me out here with you." She climbed out of the car, shut the door, and closed it, staring in through the window.

"If the handyman hadn't done what he did, Mr. Chambers would have been robbed, and I might have gotten hurt. And what would have happened today without the windows and the light? You saw what those boys did to River Dog, and we were next. They were coming right for us when that light went off, as close to us as you are to me now. Think about it," she added seriously. "People could have gotten hurt....but they didn't."

And then she was gone, skipping up the sidewalk toward her house, her bookbag banging against her leg as she walked, while Valenti stared after her, remembering what Bill Chambers had told him about the one thing his "handyman" had said. "Well, it was odd, the way he put it. He said, 'I protect. That's what I do'."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'll post Chapter 43 next Sunday.

ch 30 - RIVER DOGGGGGGGGGGGGGG YEAYYYYY !!!!!! And Yeayyy the Dr can use mind speaking !!
Love Dee´s interaction with Brith Sun and her brother

We stayed to honor your sacrifice

Great sentence, exactly what River Dog would have said.

ch 31 - I don´t like this Lewis guy Don´t like at all.

ch 33 - Ups poor Jaddo Four tranquilizers, he certainly would sleep the entire next chapter The battle of wills was outstanding !! (Jaddo vs Cavitt)



ch34 - LOL LOL LOL Mrs White or I should say Brivari hit Pierce´s right bottons LOL LOL.. Stealing his Scoth was the best
I have a question, what does AWOL means? away , going away , what?
I like this Thompson guy.

vecastone: I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! AWOL means "absent without leave", the military equivalent of playing hooky, but with bigger consequences.

I don't like Lewis either. He'll wind up the first head of the Special Unit, and according to Pierce Jr. in WR, Nasedo killed the first head of the Unit. I expect that will be sweet.

And I'm still pondering what Brivari did with Pierce's Scotch after he walked off with it......




CHAPTER FORTY-THREE




September 5, 1947, 2000 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



KnockKnock

Groaning, Yvonne White stirred on her bed. She felt stiff all over, and realized with a start that she was still in the same position she'd been in when she'd first pitched herself on the bed and fallen almost instantly asleep.

KnockKnock

Yvonne peered bleary-eyed at the clock on the bedside table. 2000 hours? That couldn't be right—that would mean she'd been asleep for hours. Worming her arm around, she checked her watch, which reported the same hour as the clock.

KnockKnock

Yvonne sat up on the bed, a wave of dizziness washing over her from moving too fast. If it really was this late in the evening, that meant General Ramey had already rendered his decision and gone. The knock at the door could be someone coming to tell her that she was now in the service of Major Lewis. Feeling suddenly nauseous, she realized it could even be Lewis himself.

KnockKnock

The knocking was louder this time, more insistent, though still furtive enough to suggest that whoever was knocking was trying not to attract attention. Could it be Stephen? He would have had to have been informed of any changes in who had access to the prisoner—and who didn't. But what if it wasn't? If she opened that door and found Lewis.......

Deciding that she really wasn't up to that, Yvonne laid back down on the bed, hoping that whoever was outside would give up and go away. She wasn't in any shape to hear what she was afraid she'd hear, and if it was what she feared, John was already out of her reach. Better to wait until her head stopped spinning.

The doorknob turned.

Alarmed, Yvonne jerked upright on the bed, remembering the last time she'd watched her doorknob turn like this during that mysterious visit from Corporal Brisson. Was that who was out there? Had he been rifling through her quarters—or rather, her bathroom—again?

Then the door opened a crack, and a familiar voice whispered, "Yvonne! Are you in there?"

"Stephen?"

The door opened a bit wider and a figure stepped inside. Only after it had closed the door and flipped on the light did she see that it was Stephen.....and he was positively beaming.

"Tell me you've got good news," Yvonne pleaded, blinking.

"The best news I've had in a long time," he said happily. "I've only got a couple of minutes," he added, casting a furtive look at the door; "I'm supposed to be somewhere else right now, but I wanted to be the one who told you." He stopped, staring at her. "You look awful."

"Thanks a heap," Yvonne said dryly. "You're the third person to tell me that—but only the second human. What happened?"

Stephen's face split into a broad grin. "Ramey just left, and before he did, he personally gave me new orders to pass down to my men. No one but Dr. Pierce, you, and Corporal Brisson are to have access to the prisoner. Cavitt and Lewis have been restricted to the observation room. They can't go near him unless Pierce says so, and I'm willing to bet he won't."

Yvonne breathed a huge sigh of relief, the tension of the last three days draining out of her in seconds. "God, you have no idea how glad I am to hear that! I was afraid I was going to have to do something drastic."

"Like what?"

Like refusing to participate in the new regime and getting myself court-martialed, Yvonne thought silently. Or worse. "Never mind," she said out loud. "It doesn't matter now. So, do you think this is going to hold? What if the higher-up's overrule him?"

"I don't think Ramey would have tried this unless he thought he could get away with it," Stephen pointed out. "And supposedly it's only for a trial period, so I doubt Cavitt could get anyone to disagree with that, especially since the alien has agreed to answer questions from Pierce." He smiled again, that ear-to-ear grin that she'd seen only rarely and liked very much; there wasn't much smiling to be had around here. "You should have heard Cavitt. We could hear him carrying on all the way down the hall, and Ramey bellowing back at him. No one heard Pierce, but he was probably too busy gloating. I kind of figured Lewis would be right up there screaming with Cavitt, but no one heard him say anything either."

Of course not, Yvonne thought, seeing in her mind's eye the teabag dunking up and down, up and down in that oh-so-proper china teacup, hearing Lewis's cold, logical tone of voice as he talked about keeping John "just barely" alive. Lewis would wait, would bide his time, hovering in the wings. Unlike Cavitt, he was a patient hunter.

"I should be going," Stephen said, looking at her sympathetically, probably mistaking her silence for exhaustion....and actually, he wouldn't be far wrong. "I'm off at 2200. Would you like me to stop by with some dinner? If anyone asks, I can just say you're really tired and I'm bringing you dinner in your quarters. Or will that mess up......." He paused, glancing around the room.

"No," Yvonne said quickly, catching his meaning. "He won't be back until sometime after midnight. He wanted to give everything a chance to settle down after the General left before showing up again. And I'd love some dinner later," she added gratefully. "And some company."

"Then it's a date," Stephen said, instantly amending, "No! I didn't mean 'date' as in 'date'; I meant....well......" He stopped, flustered.

Yvonne smiled. "It'll be nice to catch up with each other. And to eat with a human for a change."

"What about when you eat in the mess hall?"

"That doesn't count."

They both laughed then, at both what she'd said and the absurdity of the entire conversation. It felt good to laugh, to even have something to laugh about. Stephen cracked the door open and peeked outside to make sure the coast was clear. "2200 then," he said, and disappeared outside, closing the door quietly behind him.

Yvonne was about to sink back on the bed for some much-needed sleep when a sudden cramp sent her scurrying in the other direction. Wonderful, she thought when she emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later. Why is it that one's period always showed up at the worst possible time? Was there some kind of cosmic law that insisted it appear at whatever her lowest point was in any given month? And by what twist of fate had she wound up the only woman in the entire compound, thus depriving her of anyone to grouse at? She could just imagine the faces of the soldiers as she tried to describe cramps, bloating, soiled underwear, and all the other wonderful accoutrements of womanhood that had been so cheerfully glossed over in that one stab at explanation her school had made, a movie entitled "You're a Young Lady Now!". She and her fellow female classmates had been herded to the school's cafeteria for that Oscar winner, while the boys had done spelling up in the classroom. By the time she was finished, Yvonne had been wishing she'd been doing spelling too. At least she might have learned something useful.

Sitting down at her desk, she pulled the middle drawer open and removed her calendar. According to her records, her period was due today; she just hadn't been paying attention. She circled today's date, counted out four weeks and two days, the precise length of her cycle, and marked the new date with an "X". Hopefully, she'd be more on the ball next time. She was putting the calendar back when she noticed something odd.

Her latest letter from her mother lay in the middle of the drawer, right underneath where the calendar had been. What was that doing in here? She'd received it right after John had been shot, and had left it on top of her desk to remind herself to answer it once she wasn't too distracted to write. Puzzled, she pulled the letter out of the envelope and unfolded it. This was going to be an especially difficult letter to answer given that her mother was going on and on about how wonderful it was that after joining the Army so she could travel, she was finally getting to do that. And how London—which is where she still thought her daughter was stationed—was only a hop, skip, and a jump away from Europe, which Yvonne had always wanted to see. And.....

Yvonne stiffened, remembering something. Something Corporal Brisson had said. Something surprising. Something he shouldn't have known.

"You also joined so you could travel. You especially wanted to see Europe, didn't you?"

Her heart racing, Yvonne looked around her quarters. She spent the next ten minutes going over everything meticulously; every drawer, every cupboard, every possession she owned. Nothing was missing, nothing out of place. Nothing but this letter, which had the exact information that Brisson had mentioned. The information she'd had no idea how he'd come by. Until now.

Yvonne sank into her desk chair, staring at the letter and the calendar. Had Brisson been in her quarters again? The last time she'd seen him making off with her bathroom trash; had he been in her desk this time? Whatever for? Was he stalking her? God knows she'd put up with her share of stares and suggestive remarks, always sotto voiced, but still audible. But if he had been in here and read her letter, why was it in the drawer? Why wouldn't he have left it where he found it on top of the desk? There was certainly nothing of value in the drawer, mainly her stationary, tape, paper clips, and various other odds and ends. Even her address book wasn't in there. What could he have been looking for?

A moment later, Yvonne leaned her head on her hands, shaking her head at her own behavior. She'd probably mentioned Europe to someone at some point and that had somehow reached Brisson's ears. She'd probably brushed the letter into her drawer herself by mistake. It was amazing how living in this atmosphere tended to make one paranoid. Prior to being here, she'd never have given something like a misplaced letter a second thought.

Another cramp clutched her abdomen. Yvonne headed for the bathroom and downed her last two aspirin. She was about to toss the empty bottle into the trash when she stopped, staring at the wastebasket, remembering how she'd hidden behind the bathroom door last month and watched Corporal Brisson inexplicably empty the contents of her wastebasket and replace them with other trash.

After a moment, she bent over and tucked the aspirin bottle toward the bottom of the wastebasket, underneath all the other trash where she could check on it later....just in case. Just to be cautious. Then she headed back to her bed, ignoring for the moment that there was a fine line between caution and paranoia, and she might have just crossed it.




******************************************************




8:30 p.m.

Proctor residence



"Hi, Mr. Proctor," Anthony said when Dee's father answered their front door.

"Hi, Anthony," Mr. Proctor answered, coming outside onto the front porch. If it had been anyone else, Anthony might have been wary of being cornered by yet another adult on the subject of all that had happened that day. But Mr. Proctor wasn't like most grown-ups Anthony knew, including his own parents. He had an easy way about him, and a tendency to take people seriously even if the person in question happened to be a child. It was a nice feeling.

"So...are you all right?" Mr. Proctor asked, not bothering to elaborate. He didn't need to, and they both knew that.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Anthony answered.

"I'm glad to hear that. I suppose everyone's been asking you to tell the whole story over and over again?"

"Yep."

"And you're sick of it?"

"Yep."

"Thought so. Dee's out back in the tree house hiding from her own celebrity."

Mr. Proctor smiled, and Anthony smiled back. His mother had made him go over it twice, then his father had made him go over it twice more when he'd gotten home from work. Even neighbors had stopped by, eager for details from someone who'd been in the thick of "that Indian thing", as the afternoon's events had been christened. And all the while, Anthony's mind had been elsewhere, pondering the question of why Dee had willingly stepped into Deputy Valenti's path. Which is why he was standing here on the Proctor's front porch instead of heading straight around to the back. He had a hunch, and he wanted to check it out before he saw Dee.

"It was nice of that deputy to bring us home," Anthony remarked casually.

"Yes it was," Mr. Proctor answered. "Dee said it was one of Sheriff Wilcox's new deputies; she didn't get his name. Did you?"

Anthony forced himself to look Dee's father directly in the eye. "No, sir. I didn't."

"Well, no matter. Why don't you head around back," Mr. Proctor added, looking over Anthony's shoulder. "and I'll head this one off at the pass. Again," he added with a weary sigh.

Anthony turned around to see old Mr. Rothman, he who had driven off the U.S. Army when they'd camped on the Brazel's doorstep, sprinting for the Proctor's house with a speed usually attained only by men a quarter of his age, his cane clacking on the pavement as he crossed the street. Amazing how news, or the prospect thereof, could speed the feet. Anthony shot Dee's father a grateful look and nipped off the porch, sliding under the side railing because that was faster than going down the steps and trotting toward the back yard. He'd learned what he'd wanted to learn, what he'd suspected all along: Dee hadn't told her parents that it was Valenti who had brought them home. Which only deepened the mystery of what on earth she was up to. This time.

He'd at least made certain that Valenti had let her go. Valenti had dropped Anthony off at his house and waited for him to go inside, but Anthony had other plans. He'd closed the door very quietly so his mother wouldn't hear—if she knew he was home, all hell would break loose—and waited for Valenti to pull up closer to Dee's house. Then he'd slipped back out the door and hidden in the front bushes, watching. And he'd seen.....nothing. Valenti's cruiser had just sat there for a good twenty minutes with both Valenti and Dee inside. Anthony had gotten worried as the minutes had ticked by, but at length Dee had hopped out and walked—not run—inside her house, and Valenti had driven away just a moment later. Weird.

So Anthony had spent the rest of that afternoon and most of the evening up until now trying to figure out what Dee was up to. He'd actually pulled out a pencil and an old notebook and made a list of everything he'd heard Dee or anyone say in the last three days about....that subject they weren't supposed to talk about. Denny Miltnor, whoever he was, seemed to be mixed up in that too somehow, so Anthony wrote down everything he remembered Trey Osborn and Rachel say about that, along with everything Deputy Woods had said. He wrote down what Dee had said earlier today about how she had hid and everyone had died. He wrote down everything he could think of, and when he was done, he studied his rather extensive list and tried to piece together some reason why Dee would choose to get into a car with Valenti when only two days ago, she hadn't wanted to be anywhere near him. He didn't find one....but he did reach some uncomfortable conclusions.

For as long as Anthony could remember, he had wished there were people on other planets. He had been convinced there had to be because it just didn't make sense to him that there weren't. He'd wondered when they would show up, how far away they were, what their worlds were like, and what they looked like. He still didn't have the answers to most of those questions, but he did have an answer to the first. He'd read and reread the newspaper's account of the crash, the first story that had made the evening papers before the Army's retraction, and he'd wanted so badly for it to be true. His parents had been nervous about the way all that had hit just as they were moving into the area, but Anthony had been elated. If he wanted to find out if there really were other people out there, what better place to be than near Roswell?

And then he'd met Dee, and when he realized she knew something about what had happened, he'd been so happy, he could have burst. He was right! Whenever the subject came up, whether it was Dee confiding that Jupiter had more moons or using that wonderful telescope, he felt like he was touching magic. Until two days ago, when he'd first learned that someone had died.

"I want to help. Let me help."

"I won't ask."

He still very much wanted to do the first. But in order to do the first, he was going to have to violate the second. He'd learned a great deal in the last three days, from a wide variety of people...and when all that information was laid out in front of him on paper, he'd realized that he was going to have to do something he didn't want to do: Break a promise. He hated breaking promises, but some things were important enough to break a promise for. Life—and death—were two of those things.

Anthony stared up at the tree house, now a shadow against the rapidly darkening sky. He knew she was up there; this was the "usual" place she'd spoken of earlier. Picking up a stone from the ground, he aimed it squarely at the tree house's floor. It wasn't much of a doorbell, but it worked.

A tousled head appeared over the edge. "Anthony!" Dee called down. "I've been waiting for you. C'mon up!"

She sounds all right, Anthony thought as he started up the ladder, really just boards nailed to the tree. There had been a great deal of discussion about whether to have the ladder end at the side of the tree house or to have it come up in the middle. Dee had chosen the latter, and it was a big enough tree house that you didn't really mind the hole in the middle of the floor. When he reached the top, he found Dee sitting cross-legged in the corner, reading a big book on her lap with a flashlight. Cleopatra was curled up next to her, purring. The waning light outside made both of them little more than shadows.

"Why are you panting?" Dee asked as he hoisted himself into the tree house.

"Mr. Rothman looked like he was after me," Anthony answered, leaning up against the tree house wall next to Dee and crossing his legs. "Your dad's taking care of him."

Dee made a face. "He's already been over three times today, and I talked to him once. It's like he wants to see if my story will change."

"Did anything change?" Anthony asked. "Have you heard anything?"

"Yup. River Dog's arm is just fractured, not broken," Dee reported, setting her book aside, narrowly missing Cleo's tail in the process, who rose in disgust and padded around to sit beside Anthony. "Not that that's good, exactly, but it's better than being broken. Daddy says it'll heal faster, but he'll still have to wear a sling for a while."

"That's good news," Anthony said as he petted Cleo, who crawled into his lap and settled there like a small, furry cushion. "Anything else?"

"Nobody can figure out how the windows broke, where the light came from.....or who pulled the fire alarm."

"That's good news for Rachel," Anthony noted, who had been chagrined just like Dee when she'd whispered the identity of the alarm-puller to him right before they'd climbed into Valenti's cruiser. Timid Rachel had come up with a better idea than either of them.

"And every single one of those high school boys was arrested and taken down to the sheriff's station."

"Really?" Anthony said, surprised. "The two deputies I heard were just going to let them go."

Dee nodded. "Until somebody changed their minds."

"Who? Sheriff Wilcox? I didn't see him there."

"Nope." She leaned in closer. "Deputy Valenti."

Anthony's mouth dropped open. He certainly hadn't been expecting this. "You're kidding! I thought for sure when I saw him that they'd be going home any minute!"

"Nope. You should have heard him going on and on about how it was their job to arrest those boys, and their job to protect everyone. He was so mad at them for even thinking about letting them go....I've never seen him that mad. Even when he was coming after me."

"Is that why you wanted him to take us home?"

"I bet you thought I was crazy, didn't you?" Dee asked.

"I would have if I didn't know that you never do anything without a reason," Anthony admitted. "But I still don't get it. If you knew he was going to arrest those boys, then you got what you wanted. Why even go near him?"

Dee hitched herself around so she was facing him. "Because I realized something—I can't get away from him, so there's no point in trying. I live here, he lives here....and he's seen things, or thinks he has. I can't change any of that."

"Okay," Anthony said doubtfully. "That's a reason for not knocking yourself out trying to avoid him, but that's not a reason to get in his car when you don't have to. You're up to something else, Dee. What is it?"

Dee hesitated a moment, as if weighing her words carefully. "What if," she said, her voice dropping, "we could get Valenti on our side?"

" 'Our side'?" Anthony repeated blankly. "Why would he do that?"

"Because of what I heard him say, what he told those other deputies. He told them they were here to protect the people. All the people, not just people who look like us, or people we like. Everyone." She leaned forward. "Everyone".

Anthony stared at her, thunderstruck. This was the reason she'd taken the risk of climbing into Valenti's car? Some hare-brained notion that she could convert him? "I take it back," he said severely. "You are crazy, and you don't have a reason, at least not one that makes any sense!"

"But he said 'everyone'......"

"Dee, you know he doesn't mean 'everyone' the way you mean 'everyone'!" Anthony protested.

"But he's so close!" Dee argued. "You didn't hear him, he was....."

"I don't have to hear him," Anthony interrupted. "Look, I'm really glad he made them arrest those kids; I wouldn't have thought he'd do that. But it's still a long ways from what he did today to where you want him to be."

"That's why I have this," Dee said triumphantly, pulling the book back into her lap and orienting the cover so Anthony could see it—just barely that is, the light being almost gone now. It was an encyclopedia; by squinting he could see the letter "P" along the spine.

"What's this?"

"I've been reading about what police can and can't do," Dee said urgently, her voice dropping low again as though police powers were a big secret. "Did you know that police don't decide if you've broken a law? Judges do that, or juries sometimes. Police can only arrest you if they think you've broken a law, but sometimes they're wrong."

"No," Anthony admitted. "I didn't know that. I don't really know how all that works. But I don't see what that has to do with Valenti."

"Another thing he was going on and on about today was following the law," Dee explained. "He told the other deputies they had to follow the law even if they didn't agree with it. So what if I can find something in the law that says he can't do certain things? What would he do then?"

Anthony shook his head skeptically. "Probably not much. I'm willing to bet there's a law against sitting in a car and watching your house through binoculars, but he did it anyway."

"But......"

"Dee, give it up!" Anthony said in exasperation. "There's no law for this, and you know it! And even if you could find something, that won't change Valenti being suspicious and scared. And maybe....." Anthony hesitated, teetering on the brink for a moment before continuing. "And maybe he has a reason to be."

There was dead silence in the tree house. Even Cleo looked up, aware of the change in tension level. It was now totally dark inside; Dee was just a shadow, half a shadow really, since only her right side was toward the window.

"What do you mean?" Dee's voice floated from her shadow, bearing an edge that hadn't been there before.

"I need to ask you something," Anthony said quickly before he could lose his nerve, his eyes on the tree house floor because it was suddenly difficult to talk, even to her shadow. "I know I promised I wouldn't but......but that was before I realized what you meant when you said it would be dangerous for me to know. I thought you meant I'd get teased like Ernie was doing to you, or that people would think I was crazy. I didn't realize...." He stopped, swallowing hard. "I never realized people had died because of this. And then I heard about that Denny person, and I could tell you knew something about it. And then today, when you said you'd hid and everyone had died....the look in your eyes......well......it was scary," Anthony admitted. "I know it scared Bright Sun. That's why she ran out when she did. I don't think she'd thought about River Dog maybe dying, and then you started talking about it, and that's when she ran out there."

Anthony paused for a moment to catch his breath. Dee's shadow never moved, and she was absolutely silent.

"I already know a lot of things that I figured out for myself," he Anthony rushed on, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I know they're here. I know your family is helping them. I know you went out in the middle of the night back when we first met and got something, and that's probably what you were trying to get away from your house the day I caught Valenti watching you. I know Mr. Langley is working with them because he got that telescope." Dee's shadow moved a bit at this last, but she didn't say anything. "And I know whoever did that with the lights and the windows was trying to help us."

Dee was still silent. Anthony paused again, taking heart at the fact that she didn't seem to be mad. Yet.

"But there's one thing I don't know. And I need to," Anthony went on, still whispering. "I'm not asking you to tell me everything. I know I'm breaking my promise. But I think people dying is a good reason to break a promise. I....I really need to know what happened to Denny."

There. That was over with, and that was a relief. Now all he had to do was sit and wait for the fallout. Dee was the type of person where the best thing to do in situations like these was to just spit it out, and then wait; wait through any anger that came bubbling to the surface, wait for her to digest what you'd said. She tended to get mad right off the bat, and if that happened, she had to get past that before she could really think. That could take awhile. It might be days before he got an answer, if ever.

"Did Bright Sun really run out there because of what I said?"

Anthony opened his mouth, then closed it. Never in a million years had he expected that to be what she would choose to address first. "Uh.....yeah," he answered. "She told me that before they took her home. You said.....what you said.....about hiding and dying, and she suddenly got worried that her brother would die."

A long sigh floated from the half silhouette across from him. "Me and my big mouth," she said sadly. "If I hadn't said that, we might have been able to get away. And we might have noticed the fire alarm ourselves."

"That's a lot of 'might of's'," Anthony said doubtfully.

"Yeah." More silence. Finally she turned so she was staring out the window, in profile to him, but still a silhouette because of the darkness. "Denny Miltnor was at the Fourth of July festival at the school, just like the rest of the town. He was following me, and he.....he saw something he shouldn't have."

Anthony's throat went dry. This was exactly what he'd been afraid of. Maybe he shouldn't have listed all those things he'd figured out for himself out loud.

"So...they killed him because he saw something he shouldn't have?"

Her silhouetted head shook vigorously. "No. He threatened to tell. I got really scared that somebody would listen, and it was just him and me behind the school. He was really drunk, and I thought....well.....I don't know what I thought. I don't think I thought at all. I just.....jumped him."

"You jumped him?" Anthony repeated blankly. "You were all alone and you jumped a high school boy?"

"Yup." Another sigh. "I do that a lot, don't I?"

Anthony thought of how she had run out into the crowd two days ago when Ernie and the others had been picking on Bright Sun, not even bothering to wait for a teacher, but he kept that to himself. "So what happened?"

"I knocked him over," Dee said. "Like I said, he was drunk, so he wasn't too steady. And then........" She paused, as if the next part was too hard to say.

"And then he banged your head into the ground," Anthony whispered, remembering what Dee had said to Trey Osborn two days ago, something he'd forgotten about until just now.

The silhouetted head had turned toward him in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"Because you said that to Trey on Wednesday," Anthony answered. "You said, 'Are you going to smash my head into the ground too?' Which means someone else did smash your head into the ground, and it must have been Denny."

"There goes my big mouth again," Dee muttered. "Good thing nobody listens to me the way you do."

Valenti would, Anthony thought silently. If he'd been there, Valenti would have mentally recorded every single thing she'd said. Fortunately, he hadn't been.

"So Denny started banging my head into the ground, and I couldn't stop him. He was huge, twice as big as me at least."

"Did it hurt?" Anthony asked, unable to swallow his morbid curiosity.

"Something awful," Dee whispered.

"So what happened?" Anthony prodded when she didn't continue. "Did someone come along and stop him?"

"Oh, yeah," Dee said softly. "Someone did."

Suddenly the tree house felt chilly, even though the night was warm. "You mean.....you mean they killed him?"

The head nodded again. "One of them. To save me. I woke up with blood all over me. My head hurt like crazy but, Va—he said they'd fixed me, and it would take awhile for my body to realize it had been healed."

"Wow!" Anthony whispered, spending only a moment wondering who "Va" was. "They can do that? That's amazing!"

"They're pretty amazing people," Dee agreed. "Good thing for me, huh? I found out later I'd had a fractured skull."

"How'd you find that out?" Anthony asked, his eyes wide. He didn't know exactly what having a fractured skull entailed, but it certainly didn't sound good.

"Daddy had the doctor take an x-ray picture, and that's what the doctor said. Then the doctor got all mad because nobody told him I'd been hurt. So Daddy had to make up a story about how it happened—he said I was out of town with Mama. Then Mama had to make up a story to explain to the doctor why he didn't know. We've all gotten really good at telling stories," she added soberly.

She means lying, Anthony amended silently. Dee and her parents had gotten really good at lying, and given what he knew about the Proctors, he was guessing that had been hard for them. They didn't strike him as the type of people who made lying a habit.

"But....who else died?" Anthony asked. "When we were in the gym today, you said you hid and 'they died'."

Dee was quiet for a moment. "You know who died, Anthony. You read the newspaper just like everyone else did."

"You mean the part where they said they found two dead aliens?"

"They didn't find them dead," Dee said tonelessly. "They made them dead."

It took a moment for Anthony to translate that statement, and when he had, when he'd put it all together, he was suddenly so cold, he was shivering in the now almost total darkness. "So......the Army killed them," he said slowly, "and you were hiding....and you saw it?"

"I tried to stop it," she whispered, so quietly he had to lean in to hear her clearly. "I even told one of them how to surrender because I'd heard Daddy say that there are rules soldiers have to follow when someone surrenders. But one of the soldiers got scared and killed him anyway."

Anthony sat, tongue-tied, not knowing what to say. He'd known she knew about the aliens, of course, but he hadn't known how. He'd figured that friend of her father's, Mr. Langley, was working for the aliens somehow, and that meant her parents knew, and she'd probably overheard them talking. But this? He'd never expected this. No wonder she got so mad sometimes. No wonder she'd reacted the way she did when Bright Sun and her brother had been mistreated. And no wonder she'd sensed danger this afternoon when they were walking through the school. All of a sudden, much of what looked like impulsive, irrational behavior made a lot more sense.

"So....you told Valenti this?"

"No!" she protested. "Of course not! I wanted to ask him if he really meant what he said, about him and the other deputies having a duty to protect everyone, and he said that they have to obey the law even if they don't agree with it. He's real big on obeying the law. That's why I want to see what the laws say. If there's anything in there I can use, anything at all, I think he'd at least listen to me."

"Okay," Anthony said doubtfully. He still had all kinds of objections to this idea, but he wanted to think them through first. Dee was a hard person to argue with. "I guess we'd start at the library."

" 'We'?"

"Sure, 'we'. It'll go faster if we both look. Where's the nearest library?"

Dee gave what sounded like a sigh of relief. "Roswell. Daddy can take us there tomorrow. We'll say we have to work on a school project, and the school library doesn't have the right books."

"Okay. I'll come over after breakfast."

Suddenly he felt Dee's hand come down over one of his own. Her face was still in darkness, but her voice was earnest.

"You probably already know, but I have to tell you," she whispered. "You can't tell anyone what I told you tonight. And I mean anyone. Not even my parents."

"That's easy," Anthony replied. "I wasn't here on the Fourth of July, so no one will ask me about that. I don't know exactly what happened today....and you never said. I don't have anything to tell."

"Yes, you do," she said seriously. "Now you do."

Anthony swallowed hard. Before tonight, all he'd known was that Dee knew something about the aliens. But now....now he had details, information about how someone from town had died, information that even the Sheriff probably didn't have. Now he did have something to tell, and if the subject ever came up, he'd have to make certain he didn't.

He'd officially joined the ranks of those who had to lie.




******************************************************


0015 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



"Good evening," rumbled a voice beside him. <Jaddo?>

Curled on the bed, his head still fuzzy, Jaddo barely stirred at the sound of Brivari's voice. He still felt like hell, and he wasn't interested in company. Nor was he interested in a lecture on how he'd said the wrong thing, done the wrong thing, and so on and so forth.

"Good evening," the voice repeated. <Jaddo? Jaddo!>

Go away, Jaddo thought wearily. His headache had largely disappeared, replaced by an odd buzzing sensation that did not represent an improvement. His already short temper would no doubt be shorter.

<Wake up, or I'm going to call Pierce and tell him there's something wrong with you,> Brivari warned.

<All right, all right!> Jaddo said irritably, his eyes still closed. <What do you want now? I did everything you wanted, and more.>

<And it worked,> Brivari said approvingly. <Whatever you did, it worked beautifully.>

A clink sounded, and Jaddo opened his eyes to see a tray of food on the table nearby. That wouldn't have been enough to entice him, but when a pot of coffee appeared, he struggled into a sitting position, his head exploding in a fresh burst of buzzing. What was that? And what had happened to make Brivari sound approving? Finding out the answer to that was worth sitting up for, almost as much as the coffee.

<I can't stay long,> Brivari was saying, parking the Healer's form on a nearby chair. <Everyone knows the Healer is exhausted, and they will question a lengthy visit. But I wanted you to know that the human General has given an order authorizing only Pierce and his staff to have access to you, as long as you are willing to supply Pierce with information.>

<Wonderful,> Jaddo said sourly, pressing a hand to his throbbing—no, vibrating—head. <So Pierce is now my only keeper. Is that supposed to thrill me?>

<It's a good deal more thrilling than the alternative,> Brivari pointed out, pouring him a cup of coffee. <What happened after I left? I take it they accepted the coordinates?>

<After a brief brush with their bottomless ignorance, yes,> Jaddo said, accepting the cup. <I was obliged to correct what they laughingly referred to as a 'map of the galaxy'.> He snorted. <Imagine a map of their world containing only a fraction of its surface area, and you'll get the general idea.>

<It doesn't matter,> Brivari replied. <They're still a ways from leaving their own planet, never mind their own solar system, so that information is useless to them. Tell them anything they want to know.>

<I did. And precisely because they are just smart enough to figure out that information is useless to them, the General visited me later and insisted on something more tangible.>

<Such as?>

<He wanted me to identify a communicator.>

<And did you?>

<Yes.>

<Good,> Brivari chuckled. <That should keep them busy for awhile.>

<It'll keep them busy a lot longer than that,> Jaddo commented, raising a hands to his head. The buzzing was worsening. <I told them they only work in pairs.>

The Healer's borrowed face broke into a smile. <Excellent!> Brivari purred. <Especially given that the other is safely tucked away in the pod chamber. They'll turn everything upside down looking for its mate, and never find it.>

<You know I wasn't lying. Eventually the hybrids will need both units.>

<There's plenty of time to retrieve the one they have,> Brivari answered. <In the meantime, they.......what's wrong? Why are you holding your head like that?>

<I can't stop this infernal buzzing!> Jaddo said angrily. <It's driving me crazy!>

< 'Buzzing'?> Brivari repeated blankly. <Is this a reaction to all the stimulants?>

<I doubt it. It's growing more pronounced as time goes by, so it's running in inverse proportion to the medication.> As he spoke, he noticed that his skin had begun to tingle all over, an itchy sensation that was almost as annoying as the buzzing.

<Perhaps I should get Pierce,> Brivari said worriedly. <I have no idea what affect the human drugs had on you......>

<And neither does he,> Jaddo snapped. <Kindly do not leave me in his tender hands any more than absolutely necessary. Whatever this is will likely.....>

<Jaddo!> Brivari broke in, his voice tense.

<What?> Jaddo demanded.

<Look at your hand.>

<Why? Are.....>

<Just look at it!>

Sighing in exasperation, Jaddo pulled his hand away from his head and stared at it. For a moment, nothing happened. And then.....

......and then tiny green sparks flickered at his fingertips.

The cup Jaddo held in his other hand slipped from his fingers, saved from smashing by Brivari's quick reflexes. Fortunately all of this was happening on the far side of the bed, invisible to the human soldiers standing just inside the door. Wouldn't they have been surprised to see a cup of coffee hovering in midair.

Shaking, hardly believing his own eyes, Jaddo brought the tips of his fingers closer together, and a larger green spark leapt from one hand to another. <Good Lord,> he breathed.

<Can you shift?> Brivari asked, his voice tense with excitement.

<Almost,> Jaddo reported after a moment, feeling that part of him.....flexing, like a muscle long unused. <I can feel something happening, or trying to anyway.> He paused, thinking. <Did they give me the serum while I was unconscious?>

Brivari was silent for a moment. <I don't know,> he finally admitted. <After I set things in motion, I let the Healer take over. But I'm willing to bet they either forgot, or were afraid to mix the serum with all the stimulants.>

<How many doses did I miss?> Jaddo asked, holding up a shaking, sparking hand.

<Two—yesterday and today. And keep that hand down!> Brivari ordered, glancing at the door. <That must be what the 'buzzing' is, Jaddo—your powers are coming back.>

For just a moment—one, brief, glorious moment—sheer joy washed over him, and Jaddo made no move to fight it. He just sat there, reveling in the first real bit of good news he'd had since his capture, watching the green sparks leaping between his fingertips, faint, but undeniably there. He felt the elastic properties of his cells working, feebly, but undeniably working. So Brivari had been right after all: The effect of the serum would wear off once stopped. Only two missed doses, and this is what happened. What would happen if he missed four? Or five?

Cruel reality came rushing back, like darkness after someone turns off the lights. <It doesn't matter,> Jaddo said bitterly. <They're sure to realize their mistake long before I can make use of this.>

<No,> Brivari said firmly. <We can make use of this.> He moved the Healer's form forward in the chair. <Everything is still in an uproar, with Cavitt and Pierce still at each other's throats, so it could be as late as tomorrow before they realize the omission. I want you to try everything you can think of until they give you another dose. The Healer said she thought you'd need to miss seven doses before you would be back to full strength, but that was only an estimate—it could be less. Even missing one less dose could tip the scales in favor of an earlier escape.>

Jaddo stared at his sparking fingertips. The buzzing had intensified, and he closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation, knowledge transforming an annoyance into a blessing in mere seconds. It had been so long since he had felt like himself.....so long........

Brivari stood up. <I know this will be frustrating for you,> he said with uncharacteristic sympathy, <but you must be very careful. They must not know that your abilities have started to return. The human in charge of the serum has been growing lax of late with the security precautions. He will undoubtedly remember that he didn't administer the serum these past couple of days, but if they think no harm came of it, that might make them relax even further—and that can only mean good news for you. No matter how much you may want to wring his neck when he finally does show up with the serum, don't."

<Right,> Jaddo whispered, not really processing anything Brivari was saying because he was much too busy staring at the those beautiful crackling sparks jumping from one finger to another.

<I'm going to leave now,> Brivari was saying, <because when I leave, the guards inside will leave also. That will give you more privacy. There might be someone up in the observation room, so make certain you have your back turned toward it. Keep trying. We need to know how quickly it wears off.>

Brivari headed out the door, the guards following the Healer's form outside. The door was closed and locked behind them, and for the first time since his capture, Jaddo was glad to hear the click of the lock. Still unsteady on his feet, he slid into the chair formerly occupied by Brivari and held a shaky hand over his coffee, which had cooled while they were talking.

It took a minute and a good deal of effort, but when he had finished, steam was rising from the coffee cup. Jaddo sank back in the chair, coffee in hand, exhausted from the effort.....and from relief. For a long time now, he had harbored the fear that even if the serum were stopped, he would still be unable to use his abilities or, worse, to shift. Now he had tangible proof that this was not so.....and that changed everything.

As the humans would say, now there was finally light at the end of the tunnel.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'll post Chapter 44 (and the end of Part Four) next Sunday.

Thanks for the awol explanation Kathy, i´m still trying to catch up with the new chapters

vecastone: You're most welcome! Thanks for reading--I know it's long, and I appreciate your time.





CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR



September 5, 1947, 11:55 p.m.

Proctor residence


"Coming!" David shouted as the knocks on the door grew more insistent. He was hastily tying his robe as he flew by the bathroom door where Emily was poking her head out, toothbrush in hand. "I'll get it," he called to her as he passed, pausing to look back and add, "I'm sure it's nothing."

Emily looked dubious, but withdrew back into the bathroom. No doubt she was thinking the same thing he was: Who could be knocking at this hour? Hopefully it wasn't some kind of backlash from the eruption at the school today.

It wasn't. Mac Brazel stood in the doorway, his hand raised to knock again just as David opened the door. He looked terrible.

"Mac!" David said in surprise. "Why.....what's wrong?"

"I need a drink," Mac announced, leaning heavily on the doorframe.

David blinked. "You need a drink?" he repeated. "Now? At midnight?"

"Yes, now," Mac said in a husky voice. "Especially now."

Fingers of cold dread wrapped around David's heart. "What happened? Is Rose..."

"She's fine, the kids are fine, I'm fine—physically, anyway," Mac qualified. "But I really need a drink."

"Oh........okay," David said uncertainly, worried that something awful had happened. "Come on in. I think I've got a little Scotch left from the last—"

"No. Not here."

"All right, then......where?"

"The Klassy Kat."

David blinked again, thoroughly confused now. The Klassy Kat was a tavern in Roswell which enjoyed a somewhat seamy reputation, seamy enough that it tended to attract those on the lower rungs of humanity despite the implication in its name. David had never set foot in the place.

"Are you sure?" David asked faintly.

"Absolutely. If I were going alone, I'd look for someplace a lot worse."

Gazing at Mac critically in the dim front porch light, David realized with a start that Mac was already drunk—and that was saying something, because Mac usually held his liquor extremely well. If everyone in the family was okay, what could possibly have sent him around the bend like this?

"I'll go get dressed," David said gently. "Why don't you wait for me in the living room? I'll just be a few minutes."

"No thanks," Mac mumbled, his gaze drifting upward over David's shoulder. "I'll wait out here." He walked a bit unsteadily to the nearest porch chair and sank into it gratefully, as though standing upright was just too much work.

David closed the door quietly and turned to find Emily standing at the second floor stair rail, her eyes wide. So that's why Mac didn't want to come in. He didn't want Emily to see him this way.

"What happened?" Emily whispered as he climbed the steps.

"He wouldn't say."

"Are you going?"

"Of course I'm going. He'll go without me, and he can't even walk straight."

"Take his truck," Emily advised. "That way if anything happens, I'll have the car to come and get you."

"Good idea." David reached the bedroom and began stripping off his pajamas. "Do me a favor and call Rose right after we leave, would you? I have no idea if she knows he's over here."

Emily nodded. "And you do me a favor—be careful out there. I hear that place can be dangerous."

David chuckled as he pulled on a pair of pants. "The last time I was dressing at this hour, we were on our way to rescue a pair of alien sacs with the Army nipping at our heels. This should be a walk in the park."




******************************************************



September 6, 1947, 12:10 a.m.

Copper Summit, Arizona




A sound awoke Malik, made him sit bolt upright in bed, wide awake. Not now, he thought wearily. He'd already had a busy day today, what with a parade of broken this's and that's, and Amar being in one of his famous sulks. After listening for several minutes and hearing nothing, he climbed out of bed and headed for the window. The night was pleasantly cool and clear, the neighborhood peaceful. And down below on the front porch sat a small, dark shape, its head lifted toward his open window, its voice floating up to him on the night air.

Mrow!

Smiling, Malik headed downstairs. So that was what he'd heard. He fished a can of tuna out of the back of the kitchen pantry, opened the can, dumped some in the bowl, and headed for the front door.

"Shhh!" Malik said, lifting a finger to his lips as the cat broke into a chorus of hopeful song at the sight of him. "You don't want Amar to know you're here, do you?"

At the mention of Amar's name, the cat fell silent even before the bowl of tuna hit the porch floor. Smart, Malik thought, stroking the soft fur as the cat tucked into its treat. It knew who its friends were. Now if only he could figure that out.

Yesterday, Amar had seemed to accept the news about Khivar's attack on Larak, along with the price that came with it: No back up to help free—or rather, capture—the Royal Warders. But what Malik had taken as acceptance had apparently only been shock; today had been a different story altogether. Today, Amar had been determined to do what they had been told they must never do except in cases of emergency: Contact home. Now that Zan had been overthrown, Amar argued there was no longer any need for that stricture. What difference did it make if everyone knew they still lived? Malik was willing to bet others wouldn't see it that way, but Amar had been adamant. Unwilling to wait for further news, he had retired to the lower basement level where they could safely shift to their native forms, away from either the Leader or humans. Malik had reluctantly participated, holding his own hand over the communicator along with Amar. He'd learned the hard way that if Amar was going to do something stupid, things usually worked out better if he were there too.

It had taken a very long time for someone to respond.....a very long time, during which Amar had become increasingly impatient. "Why isn't anyone answering?" he'd demanded.

"Gee, I don't know," Malik had said innocently. "Maybe because we're supposed to be dead?"

"That would make me answer faster," Amar had grumbled. "You'd think they'd at least be curious, or—"

He'd stopped short as a beam of light shot from the galaxy symbol on top of the communicator, and a holographic image began to form. It swirled slowly, hesitantly, as though the sender were uncertain as to whether or not to allow their image to coalesce. But finally it had, and when it did, both Amar and Malik stared in shock at a familiar face.

Amar recovered first. "Marana," he said, nodding. "I call for news regarding Khivar's attack on Larak."

"You're alive!" Marana answered in disbelief, no less surprised to see them than they were to see her. Her full-figure image hovered over the communicator, about a foot tall. "There were rumors, but I never gave them much credence." Her eyes flicked to Malik, then darted left and right. "Where are the others?"

"They are dead," Amar answered shortly.

Marana's large, almond-shaped eyes rose a bit on her face, the human equivalent of raised eyebrows. "Amazing."

"What's amazing? That they're dead?"

"No. It's amazing that you're still alive," she answered dryly. "I would have expected you to be one of the first to go."

Malik had pursed his lips to hide a smile. It was remarkable, really, how people who hadn't seen each other for years could pick up right where they'd left off. Marana was one of a rare breed, a Covari bioscientist who, if memory served, had worked directly with Valeris himself. She had been the lead scientist on most of the expeditions to Earth, including the expedition five years ago when Malik, Amar and three others had fabricated their own deaths in a bid for escape. She'd never had much use for Amar, believing temperamental engineers to be nothing more than a necessary evil. Amar couldn't stand Marana, but Malik had always liked her. She was refreshingly blunt, displayed the typical scientist's impatience with politics and posturing, and possessed a dry wit that more often resembled sarcasm.

"Nice to see you too," Amar had retorted. "Would you just answer my question?"

"So why did you run?" Marana asked, ignoring him.

"To save our lives."

"Oh, I see. And that's why three of you are now.....dead?"

"All five of us would have been dead if we'd stayed!" Amar snapped. "Answer me!"

Marana had sighed and folded her arms across her chest. "I see some things never change. Should I find that comforting, or depressing?" She held up a hand. "All right, all right," she added, as Amar looked about to implode. "Gracious. After having survived all these years, I'd hate to have a simple conversation with me be the cause of your demise via a burst blood vessel. Khivar and Larak have reached a stand off, as everyone knew they would. They sit there hurling accusations and glowering at each other, and just generally wasting everyone's time. The so-called 'attack' is more verbal than anything else. "

"I don't understand," Amar said. "Why doesn't Khivar finish him off?"

"Because he can't," Malik broke in. "Khivar doesn't have the resources to do that."

"Exactly," Marana agreed.

"He finished off Zan," Amar pointed out, frowning at Malik.

"Only because he had the element of surprise," Marana said, "a key element he lacks with Larak. If Zan had known what Khivar was planning, Khivar wouldn't have stood a chance. And if he ever does anything remotely resembling real damage to Larak, he won't stand a chance then either."

"I told him that," Malik muttered.

"If Larak is so powerful, then why doesn't he finish off Khivar?" Amar demanded, scowling at both of them.

"Trust you to ask that," Marana said, shaking her head sadly. "You know, Amar, there are people out there who are capable of seeing the bigger picture, and fortunately, Larak is one of them. Most of Antar isn't happy that Zan's gone and Khivar is in control, but at least someone is in control; remove Khivar, and everything lapses into chaos. And with most of the royal family dead or missing, any struggle for the throne would be bloody indeed."

"So I take it Larak hasn't handed over whatever technology Zan was working on?" Amar asked.

"Larak doesn't have anything to hand over," Marana answered wearily. "No one hides something in the very first place everyone would look."

"I told him that too," Malik muttered again.

"Would you just shut up!" Amar snapped at Malik, before turning back to Marana. "I......"

"This isn't about what Larak supposedly has," Marana interrupted before Amar could go off on a tear. "It's about what Khivar doesn't have—the King's body. Without that, he can sit here until he dies, but he will never take the throne, and he knows it—and Larak never misses an opportunity to point that out. Neither Larak nor Khivar can produce something they don't have, so this isn't likely to end anytime soon."

"How is Khivar explaining the fact that he doesn't have the King's body?" Malik interjected, hungry for news from someone other than their usual source.

"He's telling everyone the King died, but the body has been hidden by rebels to prevent him from legitimately taking the throne," Marana answered. "He claims it's just a matter of time before it's found. Larak is counter-claiming that Zan has merely been injured and will return once he recovers. The thing is," she added seriously, "they're both right. But Khivar's time is running out—he can't run around 'looking' forever, and the longer he looks, the greater the faith in Zan's return. This 'attack' is merely an attempt to divert everyone's attention."

"I told—" Malik began.

"Don't! Amar barked furiously. "Just don't! And since when did you become an expert in politics?" he said angrily to Marana, whose image stood watching his tantrum with cool detachment. "I thought you were always far too wrapped up in your precious science to pay any attention to political games."

"This isn't politics, Amar—it's common sense," Marana said in exasperation. "Which goes a long way toward explaining why you're confused and Malik isn't."

"Fine. Fine!" Amar exploded. "If you two are so damned brilliant, I'll just leave you to each other!" His noisy exit was followed by a brief, awkward silence as Malik and Marana looked at one another. She broke the silence first.

"So the others are.....are really......"

"Dead?" Malik finished for her. "Unfortunately, yes."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Marana said quietly. "I know you were all scheduled for surgery, but it's unlikely any of you would have been compromised. The science had reached a point where......"

"That was a risk we were unwilling to take," Malik interrupted. "And felt we should never have had to take in the first place."

"I see," Marana said, staring at the floor of wherever she was. Malik knew what she was thinking; as one of the lead scientists on the project, the science she spoke of was her science, and their rejection of it a rejection of her own work. "At least you're looking well. Exile seems to agree with you."

"It did. Until just recently."

Their eyes had locked for a moment, and Malik suddenly wondered if it had been unwise to make even that vague comment. Now was probably not the best time to express unhappiness with the state of affairs at home. Supposedly the Covari were largely united behind Khivar, and Malik had often privately wondered if that were true. But there had been no one to ask; they were only allowed to receive, not send, communications, and it was always the same person at the other end of the line, acting as what Malik suspected was a very selective filter. This was the first time since the coup that Malik had had a chance to get another opinion from one of his own.

Or a lecture....and it looked like one was forthcoming. Marana had leaned in toward her communicator, the image of her arms resting on what appeared to be thin air, and Malik braced himself for announcements about how much better everything was now.

"Is what I've heard true?" she demanded in a whisper, as though afraid she'd be overheard. "Are they there?"

Malik stared at her in surprise. Apparently he wasn't the only one experiencing filtered information. "Don't you know?"

"Officially? No," she admitted. "Khivar's people tell us nothing. They say they don't trust us, although I notice they were very willing to use Covari to do their dirty work."

"Why should they be any different than anyone else?" Malik asked soberly.

"Look, I'm not stupid," Marana continued. "It's not lost on me that the Warders, the bodies, and Zan's magic whatsis have all disappeared, so it stands to reason they've disappeared together. Are they there?"

Malik had watched her steadily for several seconds before answering. "Yes, they're here. They arrived not long after the uprising."

"And did they.......did they really create hybrids?"

"Yes."

"Incredible," she breathed, her eyes wide. "We'd talked about the possibility that hybridization might be a better way to achieve our goals, although we certainly had no intention of starting with the royal family. Have you seen them yet?"

"No," Malik lied. "Humans captured at least some of them briefly before the Warders rescued them. Their descriptions match those of fetal hybrids."

"How many?"

"The humans found two sacs, each containing four fetuses. They'd been retrieved by the time we arrived."

"Two sets," Marana murmured, frowning. "The initial attrition rate for hybrids is frighteningly high. Valeris would have made far more than that."

He did, Malik had thought silently, remembering the row of sacs propped against the wall of the old laboratory chamber. "Their ship had been emptied by the time the humans found it," he said out loud. "There probably are more, and they're probably very well hidden."

"And what of the Warders? Have you seen them?"

Malik hesitated, knowing who she was looking for, knowing she wouldn't find him. "Only from a distance," he lied again. "Two of them are being held captive by the humans; they used some kind of sedative on them. And the other two.....the other two are dead."

Marana's voice was so faint Malik could scarcely hear her. "Which two died?"

Malik swallowed. "Urza and Valeris."

He waited while she digested this information, sinking into a chair wherever she was, her face a mask of shock. "Why Valeris?" she murmured after a minute. "He was the one they needed most. He created them, and now he'll never get to see them."

"I'm sorry," Malik said gently. "I know—I'd heard—that you and Valeris were close."

She was silent a moment longer, regaining her composure. Scientists like Marana never liked to admit they had feelings, even though feelings made them better scientists. "He was a colleague," she finally said, as if trying to convince herself that was all Valeris had been. "A brilliant colleague. His death is a great loss."

And then something extraordinary had happened. Marana's expression had hardened, and she'd leaned in close to her communicator again. "Are we alone?"

"Yes," Malik answered slowly. "Why?"

"Promise me something," she demanded. "Promise me that if you do find the hybrids, you'll tell me first. Don't let anyone near them. Don't let anyone touch them. I'm the only one left who knows anything about hybridization. Please—I'll give you my own communicator frequency so you can safely contact me without anyone else knowing. They must not fall into other hands."

Malik stared at her image in shock. She was taking an extraordinary risk offering him her own frequency—if she were discovered, the consequences could be severe. Watching her intense expression, Malik was seized with a sudden urge to tell her the truth, tell her he'd found them, tell her they were all right.....or most of them were, anyway. She'd probably be protective of them because Valeris had created them. Or perhaps she really wanted Zan back; she didn't sound too pleased with the new regime. Or perhaps......

"Why?" Malik asked, suddenly wary. Was this a test to see what he'd do?

He'd watched Marana's eyes widen, watched her realize that perhaps she'd said too much, just as he had only moments ago. And then her own expression had turned wary just like his own.

"Because they represent a significant leap in bioscience, of course. Can't have simpletons like Amar running around, messing everything up. Whatever Khivar has in store for them, we need to let them mature just to see what happens. I merely wish to see that proceeds the way it should."

Her voice was casual; she was trying to sound like the hybrids were just another science experiment, but she didn't quite pull it off—there was something more there. What was it? Did she share his distaste for recent events? Unfortunately, there was no safe way to find out.

"Of course," Malik said in a neutral voice, as it meant nothing to him one way or the other. "If we find them, I'll see to it that you're notified at once, along with everyone else we'll need to notify. You'll need to transmit the frequency at which you wish to be notified."

He saw her throat tighten, waited for her to protest....but she didn't. She hesitated for only a moment before reaching out to touch something near her. Malik's communicator flashed briefly, indicating receipt, and Malik's eyes widened. She'd taken a huge risk, and the look on her face told him she knew it.

"Thank you," Malik said quietly, meaning it. Now he had a private contact back home, something he hadn't had in years. "Remember, I'll have to call you; I don't have my own communicator, so if you call me and get Amar, there'll be trouble for sure. We're not supposed to initiate communication ourselves, probably due to the fact that everyone thought we were dead."

Relief had washed over Marana's face. "I wasn't supposed to answer communications from Earth, probably due to the fact that I'm supposed to think you're dead." She'd smiled then, a warm smile that came through clearly, traveling across the thousands of light years that separated them. "It was good to talk to you again, Malik. I'm glad there's at least one clear head out there. We could use some of those back here."

They'd chatted a bit more before signing off, neither divulging anything else; they'd both had their fill of risky announcements for the day. Still, Malik had gone about his tasks with a spring in his step that hadn't been there before. Even Amar's brusque inquiries as to the portion of the conversation he'd missed hadn't annoyed him. He'd found himself mentally weighing the best time and place to contact Marana again, and eagerly looking forward to doing so. He had so many questions to ask, not just about recent events, but about the last five years as well. So much catching up to do........but he'd have to be careful. Even if Marana's intentions were currently sincere, she could turn on him at any moment. He'd have to be very, very careful about what he said to her.

The prospect of having to treat a potential friend as a potential enemy put a damper on Malik's spirits, just has it had earlier today. The cat had long since finished her treat, curling up at his feet and rumbling the way these creatures seemed to when they were content. Malik gave her one last stroke before picking up the dish and heading back inside. He stepped through the front door and ran straight into Amar.

"What are you doing out here?" Malik asked, surprised.

"Leaving," Amar said shortly. "And before you go all self-righteous on me, I've already cleared it with the Leader. I managed to make an excellent alloy with the stuff I brought back recently, and he wants more of it. And since the best time to go foraging is at night, I'm off." He paused, looking down at the dish in Malik's hands. "You've been feeding that beast again, haven't you?"

"So what?" Malik said, pushing past him.

"It hates me."

"No, you hate it," Malik corrected. "It merely has good taste."

"I'll be back late," Amar said, ignoring him. "Don't have a fit about it this time, okay?" Malik snorted, heading for the kitchen to deposit the dirty dish as Amar headed out the door.

A minute later, Malik was back in his bedroom, all ready to get back into bed, when something caught his eye. A bird off in the distance, bathed in the infrared glow of a Covari. Amar.

Interesting, Malik thought to himself as he flopped down on his bed again. Judging from the direction in which he was flying, Amar's foraging ground lay due east. Toward Roswell.



******************************************************



1 a.m.

Klassy Kat Tavern, Roswell




"What'll it be?"

"Two Scotch on the rocks, please."

"Comin' right up."

As David waited for the bartender to finish pouring the drinks, he glanced uneasily around the crowded bar. It was Friday night, and the place was packed. Heads nodded over drinks at the bar, and raucous laughter erupted from a table off to one side while a fight appeared to be developing at a table on the other. Various impromptu singing and dancing contests appeared to be running simultaneously, all eclipsed by the many drinking contests. An Indian with a severe expression appeared at the far back corner of the bar for a refill, and David's thoughts wandered to the day's drama. Fortunately River Dog was not as badly injured as first thought, and fortunately all of the boys involved had been arrested. Dee had been elated when she'd heard that, and David hadn't had the heart to tell her about the rest of the conversation he'd had with George Wilcox when George had stopped by early that evening.

"We booked every single one of'em," George had said, "but it won't do any good unless the Indian family agrees to press charges. Which they probably won't, given that they'll only be here through the end of the year when the father's job runs out. Still, I've locked all the boys up overnight. Maybe that'll put the fear of God into them."

Let's hope so, David had thought. He wouldn't be surprised if River Dog's family was too frightened to press charges. Nothing about this whole mess surprised him, from the speed with which violence had erupted, to his daughter managing to get mixed up in it despite obeying his mandate not to go anywhere alone, or.....or they way the whole thing had ended.

"So...about those broken windows and that weird light they're all talking about," George had said carefully, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the floor. "You know anything about that, Dave?"

David had nodded. "Yup."

"That's what I thought," George said. "You know, I spend all day, every day, dealing with people who think they've seen aliens. My entire staff spends all day, every day, reassuring people they haven't seen aliens. I spend so much time telling people they're not here that I sometimes forget that they are here. Until something like this happens, that is." He sighed. "If someone hadn't intervened there'd be a lot more people injured, and those boys would be looking at far worse than a night in jail. I owe....whoever.....my thanks."

So do I, David thought—again. He hadn't seen Brivari in days, although Dee apparently had. They saw so little of him nowadays that it was easy to forget they were semi-hosting someone from outer space.

"Two Scotch on the rocks," the bartender said, setting two glasses in front of him. David dug in his wallet for cash, jostling the elbow of the man on his right in the elbow-to-elbow line at the bar. "Watch it," a voice muttered.

"Sorry," David said sincerely. It certainly wouldn't be a good idea to upset anyone in a place like this. The man's coat collar was raised, half obscuring his face, but his eyes flashed David's way for just a moment, and David felt a sudden shock of recognition.

"You gonna pay for those, mister, or are you gonna keep practicing for a staring contest?" the bartender asked.

Laughter. David realized he was staring at the man whose elbow he'd bumped, and the entire complement of the bar was staring at him. "Sorry," he mumbled again, placing the cash on the bar. "Keep the change."

The bartender whistled. "Mister, you can stop by and stare any time," he said, smiling as he swept the cash into the grimy apron around his waist.

David held the drinks high above his head as he maneuvered his way through the crowd. All the tables were full, and a lot of people were standing; all were only barely visible through the haze of smoke which permeated the tavern. It was like navigating through pea soup fog, and he had to make two course corrections before he finally reached Mac, who was sitting at a small, round table in an impossibly rickety chair that looked as though it would break under him at any moment.

"Here you go," David said setting the glasses down. "Scotch on the rocks."

"Thank you," Mac said, helping himself to one of the glasses. He seemed a bit more sober now, although no more forthcoming than he had been back home. David watched in silence as Mac downed one Scotch, then pushed the second toward him.

"Don't you want it?" Mac asked, surprised.

David shook his head. "Both were for you."

Mac didn't argue. He accepted the second glass without further comment, and David waited patiently for him to either finish or slow down. As he waited, the crowd parted briefly, the smoke cleared, and for just a moment, David caught another glimpse of the man at the bar with the upturned collar. Who was that? he wondered, trying to place the face. Or rather the eyes, since he hadn't seen the man's entire face. He had looked so familiar.....so familiar........

Thump. Mac had finished half of the second Scotch. "So—are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to wrestle it out of you?" David asked.

Mac chuckled. "I'm not that drunk."

"You're damned close," David noted, smiling. Mac could probably pin David one-handed....when he was sober, that is. "Come on—out with it."

Mac sighed, and stared off into space. Or rather stared off into the packed crowd; there was no "space" in the tavern tonight. "Mitch sold the ranch," he said flatly.

"And....what does that mean?" David asked, confused. Pohlman Ranch had changed hands twice before, and each time both Mac and all the ranch hands had kept their positions and pay. This couldn't be what he was so upset about.

"It means, Dave, that the job I love, the job I've spent the last forty years of my life doing, is gone."

"But....won't the new owner need hands? Are they bringing in their own people?"

"No. The new owner is the United States Government."

"The government bought the ranch?" David repeated incredulously.

"That's right. And not for raising animals, I can tell you that," Mac added darkly.

"But then why....." David began, stopping mid-sentence, his mouth part way open. "The crash. This is about the crash."

"You bet your ass it's about the crash," Mac said bitterly. "They must think there's still stuff to be found out there, and they want to be the ones who find it."

"But Pohlman Ranch is huge!" David protested. "Why buy the whole thing?"

"Good point," Mac said dryly. "Why not just buy the part where the alleged spaceship crashed? Think anyone would notice?"

David sat back in his chair, chagrined. Of course they'd have to buy the whole thing; buying only a portion would be like painting a bullseye on the ground. "I'm surprised Mitch sold," David said. "I thought ranching was his life."

"It was," Mac said, "emphasis on was. They've been trying to get him to sell ever since that crazy weather balloon story, but he wouldn't do it."

"So what changed?"

"Money," Mac said flatly. "That's what changed. Someone called him this afternoon and offered him five times their original price—five times—and that was just too good for him to pass up."

"What's he going to do? Buy another ranch?"

"Says he's retiring," Mac said, sighing. "God knows he's wealthy enough now. I could do that too....but I don't want to."

"When's it take effect?"

"Already has. Called me at 5 p.m. tonight, told me to get out there and get my things. Had to turn in my keys. It was just boom, just like that."

David shook his head in sympathy as Mac went back to his Scotch. Losing a job was never easy, but he knew that ranch was much more than just a job to Mac. And to have it ripped out from under him so abruptly....that must be awful.

"What are you going to do?" David asked quietly.

"Well, that's the silver lining in this cloud," Mac said. "Mitch didn't forget us. He demanded a year's pay for all of his employees, or he wouldn't sell. So I've got full pay coming in for a year.....and not a damned thing to do with myself."

"There are other ranches," David said soothingly. "You'll find something.

"I certainly hope so. I'm in my mid-fifties. Ranchin's all I know. I thought I'd do this 'till I retired, and now......." Mac's voice trailed off, and he downed the rest of the Scotch. "I could sure use another of these."

"I'll get you one," David offered. Granted, Mac was drunk already, but he'd had a bad day, and he had a safe way home. David pointed himself in the general direction of the bar and wormed his way back through the smoke, sliding sideways through the cracks in the crowd until he miraculously wound up at the exact same spot where he'd been before. To his right, the man with the turned up collar inched further away.

"You're back!" the bartender said, smiling. "More Scotch on the rocks?"

"One, please," David answered. As he spoke, the man on his right, apparently finished, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, slapped some money down on the counter, and rose to leave. As he did so, David got his first good look at the man's face.....and what he saw left him flabbergasted. He knew that face....that face.........

...the boy's eyes flew open, squinting against the bright overhead light. He stared at the strange, alien figures surrounding him in disbelief, his eyes wide with fright. And the he screamed, his scream echoing off the rock walls of the chamber in which he was held.....

David swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry as the desert. Now he knew where he'd seen that face. Not in the dreams which still came occasionally, but were much more manageable now that he'd run through all the memories that Jaddo and Brivari had unwittingly transferred. He'd seen all the images dozens of times, had even become adept at lingering in certain tableaus looking for details he'd missed. But this face was not from any dream, at least not in this form. It was a face he'd seen etched in a book made of strange metal.....the adult face of a risen alien general given human form......the adult face of the screaming boy in the dream.

"Mister? You still want your drink?"

Shaking, David stared at the bartender. Now Mac wasn't the only one who needed that Scotch. "Sure. And I'll take another."

"You look like you need one," the bartender commented, disappearing to the far end of the bar and returning moments later with a second Scotch on the rocks. "Something wrong?" he asked as David doled out another generous tip.

"No, I...I just thought I recognized that man who just left," David said, stuffing his wallet back in his pocket. "Do you happen to know who he is?"

The bartender eyed David skeptically, leaning on his elbows. "Folks around here don't usually give their names. For obvious reasons."

"I guess I can understand that," David admitted.

"But......seeing as how you've been so generous....." He leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I saw his driver's license when he opened his wallet to pay. Name's 'Dupree'. You know him?"

David shook his head. "No."

"Odd fellow," the bartender continued, chuckling. "Says he's been abducted by aliens. Course, half the county's sayin' that now, aren't they?"

Abducted by aliens. David felt the shakes coming back as he pictured that little boy strapped to the odd table, surrounded by alien figures.....

"Still, his tale's different, I'll hand him that," the bartender went on. "Most folks are sayin' they were abducted last week. This guy says he was abducted years ago, when he was a kid. Says he woke up once and saw'em, and now he's up here checking out the spaceship stories because he wants to know if the aliens who got him are the same ones out on Pohlman Ranch."

" 'Woke up once'?" David repeated, his stomach churning. "Did he happen to say how old he was at the time?"

"Yep. Five years old, almost six." He paused, staring at David. "You okay?"

"Fine," David lied. "Thanks for the info. I really don't know him; he must just look like someone I know."

"Heck, even if you did know'im, I can see you not wanting to admit it," the bartender said. "Guy's a bit on the crazy side, if you ask me."

I didn't, David thought, grabbing the two glasses of Scotch. "Thanks again," he said out loud, plunging back into the crowd, deliberately weaving away from Mac's table. Mac was drunk, but not that drunk; he'd catch David's mood in a minute, and there was no explaining this one to him. He reached a handy pillar, pressed his back against it to keep himself from being swept away in the crowd, and downed the Scotch in his left hand in three gulps.

This guy says he was abducted years ago, when he was a kid. Says he woke up once and saw'em.....

David flattened himself against the pillar, feeling the Scotch take the edge off his panic. What were the odds? A little boy, the right age, waking up surrounded by aliens, and wearing the face of Jaddo's General, the same face etched into the pages of the alien book. "They're half human," Dee had said, prompting him to wonder where the human half had come from.

He had the uncomfortable feeling that now he knew.



******************************************************


0220 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base




Private Thompson stood in the basement hallway outside Lieutenant Spade's quarters, hesitating. It was very late, but there was light visible beneath the Lieutenant's door. And given what he'd learned in the past couple of days, this wasn't a conversation he was comfortable having in the mess hall, or in any public place, for that matter. His left hand clutched the folded sheets of paper in his hand more tightly as he raised his right hand to knock.

"Just a minute." Footsteps. A moment later the door opened, revealing a very surprised Lieutenant Spade.

"Thompson? Is anything wrong?"

"No, sir," Thompson answered. "I just....can I talk to you, sir?" He glanced up and down the long hallway, feeling suddenly exposed even though he hadn't said anything damning. "In private?"

"Sure," Spade said, stepping back from the door. Thompson walked inside, hearing the door close behind him, feeling himself relax for the first time since he'd made his final decision earlier tonight. This felt right. He was doing the right thing.

"Have a seat," Spade offered, indicating the bed as he sat down in his desk chair. "I already told you I won't sign those," Spade said as Thompson sat down, having spied the papers in his hand. "I'm sorry about that, but—"

"It's okay, sir," Thompson broke in. "This isn't my resignation. This is...." He hesitated as Spade looked at him curiously. "I'm reenlisting, sir."

"Reenlisting?" Spade echoed.

"Yes, sir. I need recommendations from two officers. I thought I'd ask Dr. Pierce and....you, sir."

Spade was silent for a moment, blinking. "Thompson, why in the name of God would you voluntarily reenlist? Not that it matters—they'll twist some arms and keep you here anyway—but why make it easy for them? At least make them sweat for it."

"I've thought it over, sir," Thompson said slowly, "and I want to stay."

Spade looked incredulous. "Why?"

"Because I have reason to believe you were telling the truth about Privates' West and Belmont not being killed by aliens, sir."

"Like what? I'm the only one left who'd know about that. Except for Cavitt, of course, and I doubt he's talking."

"You're mistaken, sir. There is one other person here who'd know about that."

Spade stared at him blankly for a moment before his eyes widened. "You talked to the prisoner?"

"Yes, sir."

"Wow," Spade said faintly. "That took balls."

"Yes, sir," Thompson answered ruefully, remembering the alien's wonderful disposition.

"So what'd he say?"

"He said he didn't do it."

"And you believe him?"

Thompson hesitated, chewing on his answer. His feelings in this regard were complicated; he was going more on instinct than anything else, and instinct was hard to explain. "I guess the best way to put it, sir, is that I don't think he cares enough about me or what I think to bother lying to me."

To Thompson's complete surprise, Spade broke into a broad smile. "Yeah, that about sums him up."

"Yes, sir," Thompson agreed. "And then there's you—you're no slouch in the believability department yourself."

"That's nice to hear," Spade said. "But even if you believe us....why would you want to stay?"

"If I don't stay, I may never find out if I'm right or not."

"There's still a lot of ground between that and reenlistment."

Thompson leaned in closer to Spade, his voice falling even though they were alone. "Something's going on here, sir. I'm not sure what, or who started it, or who's right and who's wrong, but....I want to find out. Whatever that something is, I think eventually it's going to turn into a firefight. And I don't walk away from a fight, sir. Wouldn't be in the Army if I did. When that happens....when it all falls apart....I want to be part of that."

"On which side?" Spade said softly.

Thompson swallowed. "I'm not sure yet, sir. Let's just say I'm feeling differently about certain things."

"I noticed."

"Sir?"

Spade smiled slightly. "You referred to the prisoner as 'he', even called him a 'person'. In my experience, the vocabulary doesn't change until the perceptions change."

"I....I never noticed, sir," Thompson admitted. When had the prisoner stopped being an 'it'? Was it today when he'd talked to him, or had the transformation been more gradual?

"All right," Spade said, reaching for the papers in Thompson's hand. "Leave those here. I'll have a recommendation on Cavitt's desk tomorrow."

"Thank you, sir," Thompson said, rising. "And one more thing."

"Hmm?"

"If you ever need me, just let me know," Thompson said earnestly.

"Sure. Thank you," Spade said, obviously not understanding.

"No, sir, I mean if you ever need me....as in 'need' me for anything.....in particular......you can count on me."

Spade's eyebrows rose. "You sure about that?"

"Absolutely, sir. I'm not sure exactly what's going on here, but I know you're badly outnumbered. I'd at least like to see a fair fight. So if you ever need someone to watch your back, I'm here."

Spade looked down at the papers in his hand, his eyes far away. "You may regret having made that offer, Private."

"Maybe," Thompson agreed. "But I know I'd regret it if I didn't."

"I don't want anyone else hurt," Spade said, shaking his head. "If I drag you into this—"

"You're not dragging me, sir. I offered. There's a difference."

Spade nodded slowly. "Right. Okay. I'll....keep that in mind, Private."

"Thank you, sir. Good night, sir." Thompson walked to the door, and paused.

"Something else?" Spade asked.

"What about you, sir?" Thompson asked quietly. "Do you regret being involved in this? If someone handed you transfer papers tomorrow, would you leave?"

Spade was silent for a long minute before answering. "A few weeks ago, I would have said 'yes'. But now? No." He smiled faintly. "I'm a stubborn bastard."

Thompson nodded knowingly. "Me too, sir," he said, opening the door. "Good night."




******************************************************



"C'mon, boy! C'mon!"

Private Walker backed into his quarters, holding out the tantalizing piece of beef jerky. Not that that was necessary. The puppy followed him everywhere even without the added incentive of food.

"C'mon! Come inside! That'a boy! Good boy!"

Walker let the pup grab the treat from his outstretched hand, then quickly closed the door behind him. That was one advantage to this whole alien nonsense—everyone had private quarters, though none were as palatial as that nurse's. Walker had gotten a peek at her digs once, and whistled in surprise. Furniture? Her own bathroom? Still, she was a Lieutenant, and the only woman here, so that probably counted for something. The average soldier's quarters were neither as large nor as well-furnished, and the bathrooms were communal. But at least everyone had a door they could close, a rarity in the Army.....and damned convenient right about now.

With the exception of the brief period of time when that idiot Treyborn had lost sight of it, the puppy's expedition to the kitchen two days ago had been a huge success. So huge, in fact, that envy from other soldiers had become something of a problem. Everyone was still locked in and bored senseless, and everyone demanded equal access to the dog. Various solutions to this dilemma had been proposed, some of which involved groups of people meeting in either the mess or the rec room to play with the pup in the dead of night, which worried others—wasn't that too risky? Walker's solution had been simpler and safer, and had the added benefit that he demanded first dibs because it had been his idea. After that, it was going alphabetical.

He had waited eagerly for the dog to appear last night.....but it never had. It hadn't appeared tonight until minutes before he was due to go off duty. But now it was here, and the experiment could begin. Walker patted his bed, and the pup obediently jumped up, wagging his tail and panting.

"Okay, here's the deal," Walker said seriously to the pup as though it could understand him, absently scratching it behind the ears. "Each night you come, one of us gets to take you to their quarters until just before our CO shows up in the morning. But you have to be good," he added, waggling a finger at the dog, who watched it hopefully, perhaps expecting more beef jerky to materialize. "No barking, and no running away and scaring everybody like you did two nights ago. Got it?"

The pup immediately settled on the bed, curling up with its head on its paws as though it had understood every word.

"Good," Walker said approvingly. "You're a smart dog. Bet you're a whole lot smarter than that thing they've got downstairs," he added. "If you're really good, we'll try taking you other places. But only after we try this for a while and see if it works."

The dog thumped its tail, but remained silent. Walker offered another piece of beef jerky from his pocket, and fished the old tennis ball that LaBella had pressed into his hand moments ago out of his other pocket. This was the closest thing they had to a "dog toy", but what to do with it? There wasn't enough room to play catch anywhere but the mess hall and the rec room, and no one was willing to risk that yet, including him. Especially him. Crazy as it sounded, this little dog was the only reason Walker got up in the morning.

Walker bounced the tennis ball a few times, trying to decide what to do with it, when the ball suddenly hit the foot of the bed and went rolling away across the room. In a flash, the little dog was streaking after it, returning triumphantly seconds later with the ball in his mouth. He laid the ball proudly at Walker's feet and sat there, looking very pleased with himself.

Walker broke into a grin. "Leave it to you to figure it out," he said, settling himself on the floor with his back against the wall. They spent the next half hour playing a quiet form of catch, with Walker rolling the ball to the other side of the room and the pup bringing it back.

At length the pup seemed to tire, sitting down in the middle of the room and watching the ball roll by. Yawning, Walker climbed to his feet. He hadn't gotten much sleep last night because he'd been hoping the dog would show up after his shift ended. The clock read 0300; that gave him two and half hours before the dog had to be back at the entrance to the compound. Spade usually made his morning rounds at 0600 or shortly thereafter. Officers always got the day shifts. Just another reason it stank to be a grunt.

"C'mon, boy," Walker said, patting the bed as he stretched out, his boots still on. "How about a nap?"

The pup promptly jumped up on the bed and settled himself at the foot, curling into a ball near Walker's feet. He set his alarm for 0525, gave the dog one more pat, then sank gratefully onto his pillow. He could feel the pup's warmth by his left leg, and he smiled down at the warm ball at his feet. "How'd you get out here, boy?" he asked sleepily. "You obviously belonged to somebody. Did you jump out of a car? Somebody dump you?"

The pup gazed at him steadily through half-closed eyes, and Walker chuckled. "Listen to me. I'm acting like you're actually going to answer me. Doesn't matter where you came from. You're safe with me now."

His eyes closed, the dog's eyes closed, and for a long time, the little room lay in absolute stillness save for Walker's snores.

About thirty minutes later, the dog's eyes abruptly opened. After a few experimental sniffs at Walker, it climbed silently off the bed. A moment later, a different form stood gazing down at Walker, a form he would have recognized because it looked just like him.

"I sincerely doubt I'm 'safe' with you, human," Amar said softly, "but you are safe with me—for the moment, at least. While I have need of you. And after that?" He leaned in closer. "After that, I'll show you something else you can do with that ball."

Wearing a satisfied smile, Amar silently slipped out the door into the compound.




End of Part Four


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'll post the beginning of Part 5 (Chapter 45) next Sunday.

ch 35 - Ajaja !!! Little cute puppy ... To be honest, if I were a soldier confined in the desert and a lovely puppy or a rabbit or a little lizard showed up, I would immediately welcomed him/her into my place.

ch 36 - Poor Bright Sun and Rachel, I think Dee has to talk with her friend, she´s just scared and needs some comfort words.
Calm down Dee, we know your mother set up the meeting to talk in favor of the indians and not to elaborate some evil plan. ***shhh*** take it easy****

ch 37 - Yess !!Father O´neill´s speach was awesome and so true. !! and Yess Thompson great work, amazing fight of wills

ch 38 - The location of Antar? Come on !! really? I don´t think so :
Poor Jaddo being unconcious for that long

ch 39 - Again with the use of "it" Dr. Pierce : : I don´t like that.

"Well….assuming this…. 'alien' can travel through space…..so does this mean the part about the spaceship is real?"

"You were saying, son?" Ramey prodded.

lol lol poor guy ...

LOL lOL lOL I am loving Private Thompson´s conversation with Jaddo LOL LOL Yes, show us how ignorant we are Jaddo LOL LOL

Now serious, what? what? why Rachel said that to Dee? What this hellish children will do to Dee and Bright Sun? :

ch 40 - Noooo Poor River Dog !!! Bad guys, bad teenagers !!!!

<Later,> Brivari said shortly. <I find myself invoked again.>

lol lol lol lol :

ok, besides this short comments I am amazed at the way you describe the Military actions/behaviour. I bet something like that must have happened. Several heads wanting to hurt the alien, others wanting success. You´re describing the scenary in such an accurate way, I am speachless.
Ramey analysing the whole situation with Jaddo was amazingly described. The resignation in Jaddo and knowing exactly what Ramey wanted because he´s a soldier also. He knows what Ramey is facing.

vecastone: Wow! Thank you so much for that wonderful f/b! I'm sure there was a huge power struggle over the alien prisoner--there usually is a power struggle over anything so valuable. And you're absolutely right that Jaddo knows what Ramey is going through. Under different circumstances, he might be watching Rath go through the same thing. Jaddo's ability to understand where Ramey is coming from is what will keep Jaddo alive and Ramey in power for the next three years....until it all falls apart.

And don't worry about info that's passed on, like the spatial coordinates for Antar. When Jaddo eventually escapes (as we all know he will), a lot of stuff is going to be....er........lost. And given that this is an extremely covert operation in the late forties, there aren't a lot of copies lying around, so when the info's gone, it's pretty much gone.





PART FIVE—VISITATION



CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Nine Weeks Later



October 30, 1947, 1330 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base




"I'm not quite certain what he's getting at here," Corporal Keyser said, frowning at the pieces of paper in front of him.

Dr. Pierce shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't be of much assistance, Corporal."

"What's wrong, Daniel?" Major Cavitt interjected, his voice dripping sarcasm. "Math skills rusty?"

"Higher math is not necessary for my chosen field," Pierce answered frostily.

"Little is," Cavitt retorted.

Yvonne White mentally rolled her eyes as Corporal Brisson, seated at her left, heaved an undisguised sigh. Dr. Pierce was seated to her right, and across the table were Major Cavitt, Corporal Keyser, and, strangely enough, Major Lewis, his presence apparently due to General Ramey's inability to get rid of him entirely. These weekly briefings had been ordered by Ramey as a means of officially transferring information collected by Dr. Pierce and his staff to Major Cavitt and his staff. Unfortunately, they had also evolved into a means of officially transferring insults.

"Then perhaps you could assist Corporal Keyser?" Pierce asked, smiling innocently.

Cavitt's face colored. "I shouldn't have to assist the Corporal. I'm a soldier, not a mathematician."

"In other words, higher math is not required to 'point and shoot'," Pierce said blandly.

Cavitt gave an irritated snort. "In other words, if Corporal Keyser is the whiz kid Ramey thinks he is, he should already know what he's looking at without us having to tell him."

Alarmed at suddenly finding himself the subject of the conversation, Keyser looked nervously back and forth from Cavitt to Pierce. Keyser hated it when they snapped at each other, which they did with distressing regularity. Every single meeting this month had ended in a verbal fistfight which had tried Yvonne's and Brisson's patience, not to mention Keyser's nerves.

It hadn't always been this way. Cavitt had been largely quiet for the first few meetings, a silence likely born of rage at the total victory Pierce had managed in barring him completely from John, and a certainty that the current situation would not last. Yvonne could see why he felt that way. John was so contrary, so difficult to get along with that it was easy to see this fragile compromise collapsing at a moment's notice.

But that hadn't happened. Instead, after a full month of diagrams, questions, head scratching, and fits of exasperation on John's part, the engineering team responsible for deciphering the alien ship in the hangar nearby had managed to get one of the consoles on the ship's bridge up and running. It was a navigation console, according to John, and its blinking to life had been cause for great celebration from here to the Pentagon. Champagne had flown freely in the hangar, more champagne had been sent over for those in the compound, and many joyful phone calls had been exchanged between Roswell and Washington. Pierce had been so giddy that he'd helped himself to an entire bottle of Scotch, and even offered some to John, who had refused in disgust. "Good Lord," he'd groused. "Since when is turning something on cause for global rejoicing? You lot are worse off than I thought."

"I know what I'm looking at, sir," Keyser protested, as Cavitt looked at him disdainfully. "I just don't understand it. I—"

"Corporal, anyone with a high school diploma should be able to tell you that is calculus," Cavitt interrupted impatiently. "Pray tell why is this so difficult?"

"Of course it's calculus," Keyser said, impatience creeping into his own voice, "but I need some direction—"

"For what?" Cavitt snapped. "Math is a universal language, is it not? One doesn't need a Rosetta Stone for numbers! What is the problem?"

Yvonne threw a sympathetic glance Keyser's way as he lapsed into frustrated silence. The "problem" had been going on for about three weeks now. After everyone had come down from cloud nine, the alien navigation console glowing away, it had occurred to all and sundry that while it was wonderful to turn something on, that did little good unless one knew how to use what one had turned on. And therein lay the problem. The alien screen glowed with symbols which Keyser had translated fairly quickly into numbers....but progress had halted there. No one could figure out the aliens' system of mathematics. Experts had been flown in from around the country, kept properly in the dark, of course, but to no avail; alien mathematics remained elusive. And poor Corporal Keyser, officially under the command of Major Cavitt, had begun to sweat bullets.

"I need a base," Keyser said desperately, looking at Pierce for assistance and receiving a blank stare. "Our math is base ten. I'm not sure what base this is. Every time I think I've figured it out, I have—but only for that particular example. They appear to be using a different base for each example, and—"

"Then why don't you write down your query and have the good doctor deliver it?" Cavitt asked with mock helpfulness. "Even he ought to be able to deliver a message."

"I have, sir," Keyser said irritably. "These examples are the answer, and I can't make heads or tails of them!"

Cavitt smiled a most unpleasant smile. "Then perhaps the fault lies with the messenger?"

"I quite agree," Pierce replied promptly.

Every head swiveled to look at him. "What do you mean by that?" Cavitt asked warily.

"Just what I said," Pierce replied. "You said you were a soldier, not a mathematician; I'm a doctor, not a mathematician. The one who should be asking these questions is the one with the most expertise in the area under discussion. I do believe it's time that Corporal Keyser met our guest."

The pencil which Keyser had been holding clattered to the table. Cavitt and Lewis exchanged I-told-you-so glances.

"But.....sir......I.......I......." Keyser's voice failed him, and he sank back in his chair, white as a sheet.

"Corporal, General Ramey assigned you to this operation because he felt you were the best person to unravel these puzzles," Pierce said patiently, oblivious to the fact that Keyser was practically fainting. "We tried the 'messenger method' and that hasn't worked. It's time the two of you met and settled this issue once and for all so we can all move forward."

"I'd be happy to brief the Corporal," Yvonne offered, smiling encouragingly at Keyser, who was looking decidedly green around the gills. "And I'd be happy to accompany him when he meets—"

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" Cavitt broke in, glaring at Pierce.

Pierce's eyebrows rose. "Doing what?"

"Letting him see it. Granting him a dispensation from God—that would be you!" Cavitt clarified angrily.

"Of course I'm doing it 'on purpose'," Pierce answered, still looking confused. "The purpose, as you are surely aware, is to decipher the aliens' system of math—"

"That's not what I meant and you know it!" Cavitt erupted, making everyone jump. Keyser added blue to his previous shade of green. Yvonne's eyes widened; this was the first time Cavitt had moved past sarcasm to outright attack.

"Keep your voice down, Sheridan," Pierce said coolly. "You have no business bringing your private tantrums into this briefing."

"You're rubbing my nose in it," Cavitt continued, ignoring Pierce, "just rubbing it in that you get to decide who gets to see it and who doesn't, and that I'm not one of the chosen few!"

"We have each already admitted our lack of expertise in the area of higher mathematics," Pierce said, keeping his voice level. "Therefore I see little point in you being the one who—"

"Oh, for God's sake, Daniel! You don't get it, do you? It's not that we don't 'understand', it's that it isn't giving us reliable information! It doesn't want us to figure out its technology! You don't need a math expert in there, you need a soldier! Someone who can make it cough up what we need, and—"

"Corporals," Pierce interrupted, addressing both Brisson and the bug-eyed Keyser, "Lieutenant—dismissed."

Slowly, Yvonne, Brisson, and Keyser stood up.

"Corporal Keyser is under my command," Cavitt declared. "You don't dismiss him—I do. And he is not dismissed."

Keyser sank back into his chair. Yvonne and Brisson remained standing.

Pierce's eyes had gone cold. "The briefing is over, a course of action chosen. What remains is a private matter between you and me, Sheridan. Enlisted men and junior officers have no place here."

"You have already wrested control of the prisoner from me," Cavitt whispered, knives in his eyes. "I will not have you take control of my own men!"

"Corporal Brisson, Lieutenant White, Corporal Keyser.....you are dismissed," Pierce said firmly.

"Sit!" Cavitt bellowed when Keyser began to move.

"Go!" Pierce ordered, pointing toward the door. "All of you—out!"

Nobody moved for several seconds. Cavitt was white with fury, Lewis was watching with a detached sort of interest, Keyser was shaking like a leaf, and Brisson looked like he was in shock. Someone had to move first.

"Corporal," Yvonne said, addressing the trembling Keyser, "why don't you come with me and I'll help you prepare for your meeting." She moved toward the door with Brisson following gratefully.

Keyser glanced fearfully at Cavitt, but Cavitt seemed to have forgotten about him, locked as he was in his silent battle with Pierce. He experimentally rose a few inches from his chair and, seeing no reaction from Cavitt, fled through the door which Yvonne was helpfully holding open.

"You too, Bernard," Pierce growled at Lewis, never taking his eyes off Cavitt. "Get out before I throw you out!"

"You can't be serious!" Major Lewis objected. "I am neither an enlisted man nor a junior officer."

"No," Pierce agreed, smiling grimly. "But what you will be if you don't haul your sorry ass out of here is flat on your back with a few loose teeth! Out!"

Lewis paled. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me," Pierce retorted.

Fuming, Lewis rose from the table so quickly that his wheeled chair rocketed backwards and slammed into the wall. Yvonne and the others hastily backed away as Lewis blew through the door, slamming it behind him, and stalked off down the hallway.

"Jesus," Brisson muttered, watching him go. "I never expected this."

"I'm surprised it took so long," Yvonne sighed, taking the shaking Keyser by the arm and steering him down the hall toward another room. Eventually he'd have to go downstairs, but the poor man's heart obviously couldn't take that now. "I'll work with Corporal Keyser up here, and meet you downstairs later," she said to Brisson, who nodded and left, still glancing over his shoulder at the briefing room as though expecting bodies to fly out at any moment.

"Lieutenant!" Keyser gasped before they'd walked ten feet. "My notes! I left them in......there," he finished, pointing a trembling finger at the briefing room.

Damn! Yvonne had grabbed her own papers when she'd left, but Keyser's hands were empty. He'd need those notes when he met with John, which he could very well be doing before Cavitt and Pierce finished their collective tantrum. If he met with John, she amended silently. If Keyser's reaction to Cavitt was any indication of how he handled difficult people, John was going to have him for lunch.

"I'll get them," Yvonne said to Keyser. "Here. Hold these." She thrust her own notebook into his hands and headed back for the briefing room while Keyser pressed himself against the wall, eyes closed, perhaps in silent benediction that she hadn't sent him back in there. Reaching the door, she hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. All was quiet inside, but she knew it wouldn't stay that way, and she really should get what she needed and get out before they got started on each other. She decided it was best to just knock and walk in without waiting for acknowledgement, explaining herself as she moved.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Daniel?" Cavitt's voice floated from the door, clear as a bell, as Yvonne froze in place, her hand raised to knock. "Are you enjoying your triumph in finally having removed me from the equation?"

Why was his voice so clear? A close inspection of the door gave an answer: It was ajar, Lewis having apparently slammed it so hard that it hadn't latched, or had unlatched from the force. It was only open about an inch, but that was enough.

"Sheridan, General Ramey is merely acknowledging our different talents," Pierce replied, in what Yvonne recognized as his I'm-trying-to-be-diplomatic tone of voice. "You remain in command of the defense of this compound and in charge of the disposition of any intelligence gleaned because those are areas in which you excel. My strengths lie in relating to people. Therefore, I am the best person to obtain that intelligence in the first place. And now that the question is mathematical, we both find ourselves lacking. Now Corporal Keyser is the best person to gather that intelligence. We are merely all doing what we do best."

Slowly, Yvonne lowered her hand. Glancing up and down the hallway, she saw no one but Keyser, still leaning against the wall clutching her notebook, his eyes closed. She really shouldn't stand here and eavesdrop, but neither of them knew she was out here, and.....oh, the temptation was overpowering. She could just stay here until someone else showed up in the hallway, which someone was bound to do shortly. She bent her ear to the door and willed herself not to breathe for fear of missing something.

"Stop it, Daniel!" Cavitt was saying. "Just stop it! You—"

"No, you stop it!" Pierce this time. "You wanted intelligence—you've got it. You've got so much intelligence that the engineers you recruited are up to their necks in it! Washington is practically wetting itself over all the stuff you're sending it, so what is your problem?"

"You know perfectly well what my 'problem' is!" Cavitt said, his voice dripping barely suppressed rage. "You planned this! You manipulated this entire situation, orchestrated the whole thing like some demented conductor who—"

"Oh, spare me!" Pierce exploded. "How dare you sit there and accuse me of manipulation? As I recall, you were the one who sedated it and later claimed you did so because if it wouldn't talk to you, you'd make certain it didn't talk to anyone. Isn't that manipulation? We're all manipulating, every one of us, all the time! Why is my manipulation objectionable while yours is not? Because mine was successful, that's why!"

"You used me!" Cavitt went on, ignoring him. "You deliberately used fear of me to broker an agreement with that...that thing down there, and—"

"And why should that 'thing' down there have any reason to fear you, hmm? You did that, Sheridan—not me. Whatever 'orchestrating' I'm guilty of, I don't control you. You didn't have to treat it the way you did. If you'd displayed some manners, you might find yourself in a very different place right now. But, of course, you didn't. I knew you wouldn't. I knew you'd never get anything out of it, and do you know why? Because you're too much alike, that's why!"

"How dare you!" Cavitt hissed.

"Knock off the drama," Pierce said disdainfully. "You should be kissing my ass right now. If you'd had your way, it would have been locked up since the beginning of September, you still wouldn't have gotten a thing out of it, and we would have lost it."

"You mean you would have lost it......"

"No, I mean we—both of us," Pierce said firmly. "I may have been replaced first, but you would have been replaced too when you failed to produce anything but an unconscious prisoner. Now look at you: You got what you wanted, you're basking in glory from Washington, and you're still miserable."

"You know perfectly well I didn't get what I wanted!"

"No," Pierce replied softly. "You didn't, did you? I knew that of course, but I never thought I'd see the day when you'd admit what you really wanted."

To torture him, Yvonne thought, ear bent toward the door. Cavitt enjoyed intimidating people, hurting them. It made him feel powerful and important. He couldn't stand people who stood up to him, who refused to be intimidated, who wouldn't let fear of him govern their every action. In that, he was very unlike John, who actually respected those who fought back.

"It wasn't enough to merely obtain information," Pierce went on. "You wanted to drag it out of him. You wanted the thrill of the hunt. The rush of conquest. You knew he'd fight you, and you were looking forward to that, weren't you?" A pause. "Weren't you?"

Silence. Yvonne was desperately wishing for a window in the door, even if that would have increased the chances of her being discovered. She would have given a good deal to see the look on Cavitt's face right now.

"All right," Cavitt said quietly, his change in tone surprising Yvonne. "I'll admit I had less than noble motives if you will admit the same. No more blather about 'establishing a rapport', and 'respecting another species'. You behave 'politely' because it suits you, because it gets you what you want, not because you harbor so much as a shred of genuine respect for that creature. It is merely a means to an end for you, and once you reach that end, however long that may take, you will gladly shoot it yourself and plop it on the waiting autopsy table so you can learn as much as possible from its corpse before it disintegrates. Your so-called 'manners' are nothing more than another attempt at manipulation."

"Manners have always been about manipulation," Pierce answered. "We hold the door for the lady because we want her to think well of us. We write thank you notes to grandma for the birthday gifts because we want her to keep sending them. We invite people to our parties because we wish to be invited to theirs. Manners are socially acceptable rituals of manipulation; always have been, always will be. Naturally I wouldn't expect you to know that," he added sardonically. "Because you're just a soldier, so I doubt manners are necessary for your chosen field. They are, however, necessary for mine, and those manners have gotten you so much information, you don't know what to do with it. Justify it to yourself any way you like, tell yourself whatever tale makes you feel better. I don't care."

A chair scraped. Yvonne positioned herself to flee, stopping when she heard Pierce's voice again.

"Two things before I leave. First, work on our joint endeavor is proceeding nicely, our personal difficulties notwithstanding. We should be ready to begin trials by the end of the year. Second, we should keep our opinions to ourselves in these briefings. If you want to throw a tantrum, come to my office and throw it there. Blowing up in front of subordinates is a bad idea. As a soldier, certainly you can see the wisdom in that."

"As long as we understand each other," Cavitt's said, his voice steely. "You may have fooled Ramey into thinking you're a sensitive soul, but you haven't fooled me. And more importantly, you haven't fooled it. That creature sees through you every bit as easily as I do. It may be many things, but stupid isn't one of them."

"Lieutenant?"

Yvonne's heart jumped into her throat as she jerked her head away from the door. Corporal Keyser had apparently come to and caught her red-handed—or red-eared, as the case may be. She glanced hastily up and down the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw no one else. She'd been so absorbed in Cavitt's and Pierce's conversation that she'd been oblivious to virtually everything around her.

Suddenly the door open, and Yvonne found herself face to face with Major Cavitt. "What are you doing here?" he demanded suspiciously.

"Corporal Keyser left his notes inside, sir," Yvonne answered promptly, indicating Keyser, who was rapidly backing away. "He'll need them for his meeting." She brushed past Cavitt, nodded perfunctorily to Pierce, who was collecting his own things, gathered up Keyser's notes, and headed back for the door, only to find it blocked by Cavitt.

"How much did you overhear, Lieutenant?" Cavitt asked, eyeing her closely.

"Nothing, sir," Yvonne answered with a perfectly straight face. "I'd only just arrived--I was about to knock when you opened the door. Was there anything else, sir?"

Cavitt watched her suspiciously for a moment longer before stepping aside. "No. Carry on."

"Thank you, sir."

Yvonne found Keyser halfway down the hall, trying to become one with a drinking fountain. "Here you are, Corporal," she said, handing him the notes. "Let's go find a quiet place to talk."

"Lieutenant, I.....I......I don't think I can do this," Keyser whispered, pressing himself further back into the wall niche which held the fountain.

He certainly looked like he couldn't. He looked like he was about to pass out at any moment. "Don't worry," Yvonne reassured him, putting her arm around his shoulders. "If you survived Cavitt, you can survive just about anything."

Keyser shook his head. "I don't think so. I'm just not a good liar like you are. Oh!" he said suddenly, his eyes widening. "That....that didn't come out the way I wanted it to."

Yvonne managed a smile. "That's all right, Corporal. No offense taken."

Ouch, she thought privately, aiming Keyser toward an empty room. It turned out that lying was a skill like any other, and the more one practiced, the better one became. She'd certainly never been called a good liar before. Then again, she'd never before found herself in a situation where lying was one of the basics for survival. Not that she'd been doing much in the way of lying back there. While she couldn't say she'd heard "nothing", she certainly hadn't heard anything that she didn't already know.




******************************************************


2:30 p.m.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt School




"Class, please take out your spelling books," Mr. Peter announced.

A collective groan arose. Dee sighed as she lifted her desk top and pulled out her spelling workbook. Halloween was tomorrow night, and everyone's preparations had grown feverish. Some people were adding finishing touches to their costumes, others were changing their minds about their costumes, and a few hadn't even started their costumes. Everyone wanted to be done with school so badly, they could taste it.

"Spelling books," Mr. Peter said firmly to a few mutinous holdouts.

Dee watched sympathetically as the stragglers dug inside their desks, scowls on their faces. It would be worse tomorrow. Halloween was on a Friday this year, which meant everyone could stay out as late as they wanted. It also meant that no one's mind would even remotely be on school.

The stragglers were certainly taking their time. Dee glanced around at Bright Sun, sitting behind her with her workbook open, her pencil in her hand. Bright Sun smiled at her, and Dee smiled back. Bright Sun was smiling a lot more these days. Paradoxically, it had been a fight which made her do that.

The first day back at school after River Dog had been attacked had been a very weird day. The attack had occurred on a Friday afternoon, which meant the good citizens of Corona had had an entire weekend to ruminate over it. And ruminate they had, gathering on one another's porches, congregating in huddles at Chambers Grocery, and talking long after Sunday services ended at whatever place of worship they attended. Yet despite all the ruminating, the town had been unusually quiet. A shocked hush had settled over Corona, as though its residents simply couldn't believe themselves capable of such violence.

According to Dee's parents, the question of the moment had been whether or not the Indians would be at school on Monday. Dee had absolutely no doubt that they would, and Monday morning proved her right: River Dog and Bright Sun were there, on time as usual. River Dog's arm was in a sling, but his face was as impassive as ever; no one would ever have guessed the reason why his arm was in a sling. There had still been a good deal of staring, but this time it had been furtive, as though the Indians suddenly rated the use of manners. Susan had been uncharacteristically quiet; Rachel, on the other hand, had been back to her old self, happily chatting with Dee, Anthony, and even Bright Sun. Dee had learned from her father's conversations with Sheriff Wilcox that the identity of the one who'd pulled the fire alarm remained safely unknown. She had also learned that River Dog's parents had decided not to press charges. That was too bad, but not unexpected.

As soon as the school doors had opened, Bright Sun had raced ahead of everyone to their classroom, which Dee had found odd since she usually hung back from almost everything. When Dee reached her desk, she noticed one of her workbooks hanging out. Had someone been in her desk? She certainly would never have left a book hanging out. She'd cautiously opened the top, wondering if perhaps everything wasn't as "over" as she'd hoped, only to find the beautiful necklace Bright Sun had worn every day since she'd come to school lying on top of her books. She'd stared at it open-mouthed for several seconds before closing her desk and reopening it just to see if she'd dreamed it all.

She hadn't. The necklace was still there, its bright stones even prettier up close. Turning around, she found Bright Sun busy with something or other, her head bent over her desk. Then she'd glanced over at Anthony and found him staring into his desk the same way she had.

It turned out they had both been given necklaces. Dee's had belonged to Bright Sun, while Anthony's had belonged to River Dog, a single square stone with a black cord threaded through a hole in the middle. They were thank you notes, Dee realized, and she promptly put hers on. Anthony had balked, looking back and forth from the necklace to Dee proudly wearing hers, but, after several sharp looks from Dee, had finally put it on. This had been the subject of a later conversation.

"I don't wear necklaces," Anthony had said firmly after school that day. "I don't care if they do, but they shouldn't care if I do. Or don't."

"You wore it today.....that's what mattered," Dee had answered. "Just so Bright Sun knows you got it and accepted it. She was really happy," she added, remembering how Bright Sun's face had lit up when she'd seen them both wearing the necklaces.

"Well, that's it. No more," Anthony had fussed. "I'll help her out anytime, but I won't wear jewelry." Dee had continued to wear hers every day, and Anthony had hung his from his coat hook in the classroom.

Anthony. Dee glanced sideways at him, sitting three rows away with his spelling book opened in front of him and a look of resignation on his face. She'd been so scared to answer his questions last month, scared he wouldn't want to be friends with her anymore if she did, and she'd breathed an enormous mental sigh of relief when that hadn't happened. She hadn't realized until that moment how much she depended on his quiet, nearly invisible support.

He'd stayed and talked for awhile after her revelation about what really happened to Denny. It was easier now that the cat was a little further out of the bag. She'd often imagined telling him more, but she'd never realized what a relief it would be....or how guilty she'd feel. Anthony wasn't the only one who'd boken a promise that night; she'd broken her promise to Brivari and the others not to tell. Both she and Anthony felt justified in breaking their promises, but guilty for doing so, so both had attempted to maintain the illusion that he didn't really know anything by studiously avoiding the use of the word "alien" in any form.

"How did you know about.....that I......well.....you know," she'd asked him, the near total darkness in the treehouse making it easier to talk. It was easier to discuss secrets you shouldn't be discussing with a dark shape then an actual face.

The shape had shrugged. "I didn't know. You got so mad at Ernie that day he started 'capture the...' – I mean that game, and.....I guess I just wanted it to be true. So I came over that night and said what I said, and I figured you'd think I was crazy."

Dee had been silent, remembering that first night when Anthony had come over after that touchy dinner when her mother had found out about the alien dust in her closet.

"But you didn't think I was crazy," Anthony continued. "And then I saw you leave in the middle of the night, and then Valenti was watching you the next day while you were trying to leave, and.....I knew. I just knew. And I know why you couldn't tell me," he had added hastily. "I'm sorry I had to break my promise." He'd paused. "Are you mad?"

And Dee had shaken her head. "No. I didn't answer right away because.......because I was afraid you wouldn't want to be friends with me if you knew what really happened."

"They saved your life," Anthony had replied seriously. "And they might have saved mine. I'm not complaining."

And he hadn't. He also hadn't asked her any more questions, and he'd accompanied her to the library now on several occasions, all without success. Neither of them had been able to find anything specific about the various laws which pertained to strangers in America. After their last attempt, Dee had been ready to go to Sheriff Wilcox himself and ask for his assistance, but Anthony had talked her out of it. "He'll want to know why," he'd said, "and maybe that's not a good idea. Let's keep looking. We'll find another way."

So far they hadn't. Dee had half-expected Anthony to recommend asking "Mr. Langley". She'd been grateful for the darkness when he'd said that he knew "Mr. Langley" was "working with the aliens". Apparently it hadn't occurred to him that "Mr. Langley" might be an alien. She'd had a hard time not laughing at that one, but she could see why he felt that way. Who would expect aliens to look human?

Brivari, for his part, had said little about his involvement in the attack on River Dog. He'd shown up unexpectedly for dinner on the Sunday after the attack, appearing silently and startling her Mama like he always did, carrying the heavy metal roasting pan into the dining room with his bare hands, nary a potholder in sight, and no burned hands either. He hadn't actually eaten the roast—he still didn't eat meat—but he'd stayed for the whole dinner and actually made conversation. They all thanked him for his intervention two days before, and he had waved it away as nothing, asking only one question.

"Were there any repercussions?" he had asked her father, with everyone present knowing what he really meant: Did anyone suspect an alien was there?

"None that I know of," her father had answered. "What about you, Dee?"

"Nope," she'd lied, conveniently leaving Valenti out of it. "There can't be. Nobody saw you."

And Brivari had gotten this odd look on his face....a very odd look. Odd enough that Dee had asked Anthony point blank if he'd seen anything or anybody.

"No way!" he'd answered. "I had my eyes clamped shut, and that light still hurt. You had your eyes shut, Bright Sun had her eyes shut, River Dog wasn't even awake, and those boys would have said something if they'd seen anything at all."

Dee still had the uncomfortable feeling that someone had seen Brivari, and that's what had made him look so funny, but as she couldn't see who that could possibly have been, she'd abandoned the subject.

"It's Halloween tomorrow! I don't wanna do spelling right now!" a petulant voice announced.

It was Ernie Hutton, arms crossed, a pout on his face. "Is there ever a time when you do want to do spelling, Mr. Hutton?" Mr. Peter asked dryly, his back to the class as he wrote spelling words on the blackboard.

Ernie was silent, scowling, and at length Mr. Peter turned around to face something he rarely found: A class largely sympathetic to Ernie Hutton. Even Dee found herself agreeing that spelling was the last thing on her mind, even though that meant agreeing with Ernie.

Mr. Peter glanced at the clock. Almost five minutes had already been wasted; twenty-minutes from now, the bell would ring and the entire class would be out of there so fast their feet would barely touch the floor, and during those twenty minutes, it was unlikely so much as one mind in the class would be on spelling. She watched the wheels turning in Mr. Peter's head, hardly daring to hope that a teacher would actually see sense and throw in the towel.

"Tell you what," Mr. Peter said, setting down his chalk. "I can't let you leave early, but since it's almost time to go, and tomorrow is Halloween, why don't we talk about that instead?"

Excited babble erupted, with everyone talking at once. Mr. Peter clapped his hands for silence.

"Class! When everyone is talking, no one is talking. One at a time. Mr. Parker," he said, addressing Peter. "What are you going to be for Halloween?"

The entire class held its breath, waiting to see if Peter would answer. One's costume was generally a closely guarded secret, known only to one's closest friends and revealed no earlier than Halloween night. Unless someone spilled, of course, which happened all the time.

Peter, it turned out, was a 'spiller'. "An alien," he answered promptly, to general gasps from the class. Anthony shot Dee a look, then quickly returned his eyes to the front of the classroom.

"I'm an alien too!" Robert Caponi exclaimed.

"Me too!" John Paris chimed in.

Mr. Peter clapped his hands for silence again and took an organized tally. Bright Sun was quiet, perhaps because Indians didn't celebrate Halloween, and not everyone was willing to disclose their costumes, but of those who were, most of the boys and about half of the girls were trick-or-treating as aliens. Exceptions included Dee herself, who was going as a princess, visions of that beautiful alien princess in the metal book dancing in her head, and Anthony, whom Dee already knew had made an elaborate spaceship costume out of a cardboard washing machine box. And Ernie Hutton.

"I'm not going as an alien," he announced proudly. "I'm going as an alien hunter. I'm an Army officer!"

Figures, Dee thought sourly. If she chanced to see Ernie all tricked out in his Army costume, which she probably would, it was going to be doubly hard not to punch him in the nose.

"So what does your alien look like?" Mr. Peter asked Robert. He held out a piece of chalk, and Robert dutifully walked to the board and sketched a remarkable likeness of an Antarian, pulled straight from the pages of the Roswell Daily Record.

"And what about you Mr. Paris?" Mr. Peter held out the chalk again.

One by one, alien heads appeared on the chalkboard. There were some variations, especially from the girls who were dressing as aliens because they tended to add things like hair and jewelry. But overall, they all looked pretty much the same: Upside down pear-shaped head, almond-shaped slanted eyes, a tiny mouth. Some had included gloves with long fingers, others socks with long toes. That's wrong, Dee thought, remembering Urza's feet. Still, the resemblances were startling, as was the sheer number of them—and this was just the fourth grade. She wondered what Brivari would think when dozens of near mirror images began wandering the streets tomorrow evening.

"Do you think there really are aliens out there, Mr. Peter?" Betty suddenly asked. Everyone stopped talking and stared at Mr. Peter.

"I don't think it makes sense to believe there isn't life on other planets," Mr. Peter answered. "When you look at the size of the universe—and we're only really just beginning to understand how large it really is—you realize that there must be other planets capable of sustaining life. So I would have to say yes, there probably are people living on other planets."

Anthony's face broke into a huge grin. That had been his argument exactly, and he was obviously delighted to hear it echoed by a grown-up.

"But what about here?" Mary Laura asked. "What about the crash? Do you think it really was a crash, or a weather balloon?"

"I'm not sure what it was," Mr. Peter admitted. "But I don't see any reason why it couldn't have been a real crash."

Twenty-five pairs of eyes widened in surprise, including Dee's. It was incredibly unusual to hear an adult acknowledge that the crash could be real. Most adults seemed preoccupied with shielding children from that thought because they were afraid it might scare them, conveniently ignoring the fact that the fears one wouldn't acknowledge were always the worst.

Betty was downright shocked. "Really? You think the crash was real?"

"I didn't say that," Mr. Peter answered patiently. "I said it could have been real."

"Do you think they've come to eat us?" Betty squeaked, as Ernie grinned and Dee rolled her eyes.

"I don't see any reason to assume they're hostile," Mr. Peter said, "assuming they're here at all."

"So what would happen if it was real?" Mary Laura pressed. "What if aliens just walked up to the governor's doorstep? What would happen to them?"

"Well....I'm not sure," Mr. Peter said. "I would imagine everyone would be frightened, because anyone who could leave a planet in another solar system and come here would be far more advanced than we are. And people generally fear anything new, anything stronger, and anything they don't understand."

Dee nodded silently. That was exactly what her father had been saying for the past several months.

"But what if they didn't tell us they were here?" Ernie demanded. "Because everyone knows they didn't just 'walk up to the governor's doorstep'," he added, that last part delivered in singsong directly to Mary Laura, who stuck her tongue out at him and turned away.

"If they didn't announce themselves, then I imagine that would lend new meaning to the term 'illegal alien'," Mr. Peter said, chuckling as if he'd made a private joke.

Dee abruptly sat up in her seat, looking over at Anthony, who had gone on similar alert. "Illegal alien" was a term they had seen in their travels through the library, but they hadn't been able to find a good definition of what it meant. Anthony's hand shot up, but Dee's was faster.

"Yes, Miss Proctor?"

"What exactly is an 'illegal alien'?"

"An illegal alien is someone who is not an American citizen, and who is in this country without the proper papers," Mr. Peter answered.

Papers. Deputy Valenti had mentioned something about having to have papers. "What kind of papers?"

"It's called a 'visa'," Mr. Peter explained. "If someone from another country wants to come here, they need to apply for a 'visa'. A 'visa' is a document that says they have permission to be in America for a certain length of time. After that time is up, they either need to get a new visa, or they have to go back where they came from."

"So if there were aliens, they could get one of these.... 'visas', and that would make it all right for them to be here?"

Titters rumbled through the class. Mr. Peter smiled. "Somehow I can't see the state of New Mexico issuing a visa to someone from another planet. I doubt the laws were written to cover that situation."

Darn! That's exactly what Valenti had said. "But does the law actually say that you have to be human to get one of these 'visas'?" Dee persisted. "And if it doesn't say that, then why couldn't a space alien get one?"

More laughter. Anthony was throwing her warning glances, but Dee ignored him. So far they'd gotten nowhere in their search for a law that might convince Valenti to help them, or at least be less hostile, and Mr. Peter seemed to know something about this. No way was she going to let this opportunity pass.

Mr. Peter, for his part, didn't participate in the general mirth. He stared at the ceiling, arms folded, lost in thought.

"You know, you may be right, Miss Proctor," he said at length. "I'd have to check, but I don't believe the law specifically identifies an illegal alien as 'human'. And I don't see why it would; after all, there'd be no reason to specify species when we're the only species we know of. So if that's the case, one could make the argument that the law would apply to a species other than human."

"But.....then it could mean a snake, or a horse, or a spider," Mary Laura objected.

Mr. Peter shook his head. "There are already laws governing which animals can be brought into which countries, and under what conditions. Snakes, horses, and spiders would fall under those laws."

"Aw, nobody would buy that about aliens and 'visas'," Ernie scoffed, rolling his eyes at Dee, who glared back at him.

"Probably not," Mr. Peter allowed. "But our court system works on the 'letter of the law'. A court might find itself hard-pressed to rule otherwise if the law was not clear."

Letter of the law. That was another phrase Valenti had used. Dee made a mental note to hang around after school and ask Mr. Peter how he knew so much. He might be able to tell her even more.

But Ernie beat her to it. "How do you know? You're just a teacher!"

Gasps echoed throughout the classroom at this rudeness, but Mr. Peter was unperturbed. "Before I began teaching at the elementary level, I was a law professor at the University of Santa Fe," he answered calmly.

"Wow! A law professor!" Mary Laura enthused. "Then why...." She stopped, probably not wanting to sound as rude as Ernie had.

But Mr. Peter merely smiled. "Then....why am I here?" Mary Laura nodded mutely. "Well, Miss Grady, I wanted something different. A different challenge, you might say. And I have not been disappointed. I am finding students like Mr. Hutton here quite a challenge indeed."

General laughter erupted, much to Ernie's chagrin. Dee thrust her hand in the air, practically leaping out of her seat.

"What is it Miss Proctor? Before you hurt yourself," Mr. Peter added.

Dee was so eager that her question spilled out in a rush. "Do you have any books that talk about the laws about illegal aliens? That say exactly what the laws says?"

"Of course," Mr. Peter answered. "Would you like me to bring one in?"

"Yes, please!" Dee exclaimed, absolutely delighted. To think that after all their searching, the answers were right here in their own classroom!

"Are you interested in being a lawyer, Miss Proctor? With insight like that, you'd make a good one."

"What's a lawyer?" Mary Laura asked.

"A lawyer is someone who advises people on their rights under the law, and represents people in court," Mr. Peter answered.

"Aw, she can't do that," Ernie said dismissively. "She's a girl. Girls have babies."

"There's no reason a woman couldn't be a lawyer," Mr. Peter said, to general expressions of disbelief. "Being a lawyer has nothing to do with gender. Lawyers are people who like detail, and have excellent memories. They also need to like going to school, because it takes many years of college after high school to become a lawyer, and then you have to pass a hard test called the 'bar exam'. Oh, and Mr. Hutton?" Mr. Peter added. "It's 'women' who have babies, not 'girls'."

More titters. Dee barely heard them because her head was spinning. A lawyer. She could do that. She still remembered every single word of Valeris's long message, and she was very good at tests.

"But what would a lawyer have to do with aliens?" Mary Laura was asking.

"It would have to be a lawyer who would make the argument that the laws governing illegal aliens should apply to actual aliens," Mr. Peter explained. "That's another thing lawyers have to be good at: Presenting an argument and defending the reasoning behind it."

"I could do that," Dee said slowly, the possibilities making her reel. "I could do that!"

"Dee Proctor, the space lawyer," Ernie snickered. "One thing's for certain—you sure do like to argue."

"That's enough, Mr. Hutton," Mr. Peter said firmly, as Dee mentally reflected that it was a good thing for Ernie that he was two rows away from her. "Miss Proctor has made a valid argument. It all depends on the wording of the law. This would make an excellent class project!" he enthused, bustling over to his desk and pulling out a notepad. "I'll make a note to bring my books tomorrow and we'll see what's what."

Dee sat back in her chair, basking in the glow of Mr. Peter's praise. He thought she would make a good lawyer. And he didn't just assume that aliens were bad. And he was bringing in a book tomorrow which might answer her questions. Three good reasons to consider Mr. Peter her new hero.




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I'll post Chapter 46 before Thursday of this week because I'll be on vacation next Sunday.

This is going up early because I'll be on vacation next Sunday. (Yay! :D )






CHAPTER FORTY-SIX



October 30, 1947, 2 p.m.

Pod Chamber



The door to the pod chamber slid closed behind Brivari, replacing the glare from Earth's huge sun with the glow of the interior lights. It was cool in here, in sharp contrast to the desert outside. The pods leaned against the wall, a long row of pulsing lumps, their occupants floating in their watery worlds. He had not been here for several weeks. He had a very good idea of what he would find, and he had wanted to put that off as long as possible.

Only a glance at the spot at the end of the row confirmed his fears. Shortly after Jaddo's capture, they had four complete sets of hybrids, plus one extra Rath hybrid. Then one of the Rath hybrids had died, followed by the Vilandra hybrid from the same set. Ava's hybrid, again from the same set, followed soon after. Watching this, Brivari had arrived at the unwelcome conclusion that the fates of each hybrid in a given set might somehow be linked. This would definitely not be good news; that meant that if even one hybrid in any of the remaining three complete sets died, the others would likely follow.

The one ray of hope was the single Rath hybrid, the sole survivor of its own set which had continued to thrive until Brivari's last visit, when he had noticed that it showed signs of failing. Unable to forestall the inevitable, Brivari had avoided the pod chamber these past few weeks, only to return now and discover exactly what he had feared: The single Rath hybrid was dead, blackened inside its pod.

Sighing, Brivari inspected the others. The rest were still thriving, especially their best set, one of the two captured by the human military. Only one hybrid remained alive from the fourth set—a Zan hybrid. If experience was any teacher, it wouldn't last long.

If only Valeris were here, Brivari thought sadly, as he slit open the pod containing the dead hybrid, spilling its contents over the floor of the chamber. Valeris might not have been able to do anything specific, but he would have been able to end at least some of the speculation. Lately Brivari had found himself missing Valeris more and more, not only because of his bioengineering expertise, but because of something Brivari had not been expecting: Unremitting loneliness. He had never been alone like this in his life, nor expected to be. Granted, he saw Jaddo at least once daily, usually more. But Jaddo had never been much in the way of company, and was even less so now, preoccupied as he was with his own situation. And the one human whose company Brivari enjoyed was someone he now avoided.

The unfortunate hybrid crumbled to dust, mixing with the rotted gestational fluid swirling by Brivari's feet as he sank down on a ledge, watching. David Proctor's revelation that he had seen the human child who ultimately served as Rath's donor had been disturbing. Brivari had no idea why that particular memory had been front and center the night he had escaped from the human military compound. Perhaps his own panic at being pursued had reminded him of the child's panic when he had awakened in this very chamber all those years ago. Whatever the cause, one thing was certain: If the girl's parents ever learned the means by which Antarians had obtained the knowledge necessary to create the hybrids, they would likely withdraw their support from him immediately.

And who would blame them? Most of the subjects had been children; certainly in the latter stages of the project, all of them had been. Rath's donor had been young, no more than six Earth years of age when he had first been chosen. Whatever sedative had been used had proven short-lived, and he had awakened early, much too early, running pell mell around the chamber, knocking things over, wild-eyed with panic. He had been promptly re-sedated and returned to his dwelling, with Brivari confident that few human adults would listen to a child's fanciful tale.

But that hadn't been the end of it, much as Brivari had wanted it to be. One of the scientists, a Covari by the name of Marana, had insisted they re-acquire the child because his genetic imprint bore the exact sequence most favorable to bonding with the gandarium, a rarity in humans. So the child had been acquired several more times, and the particular mix of drugs used to sedate him had been changed to keep him asleep. But he must have grown resistant because he began awakening again; not completely, but enough to be worrisome. Covari spies learned that the child was remembering details, drawing pictures of the Antarian and Covari scientists which were startlingly accurate. They had left in a hurry that time, resulting in the disarray in which he and Jaddo had found this chamber right after their ship crashed.

The gestational fluid had calmed into a black lake on the floor of the chamber. Brivari held his hand over it, vaporizing the puddle and the dust it contained, before heading for the door. David Proctor had not raised the subject of the human boy again; hopefully he'd dismissed what he'd seen without dwelling on it. And Jaddo may not be good company, but soon that would change; the human responsible for administering the serum had indeed grown more and more complacent, to the point where he had ceased testing it before administration. For the past two days, Brivari had replaced the serum with an inert substance, and Jaddo's powers had promptly begun to return just like they had several weeks ago. Today marked the third day that Jaddo would go unmedicated—they were almost halfway there. Four more days, and then, with a little luck, Jaddo would be free.

Pressing his hand to the handprint, Brivari opened the chamber door. The child David Proctor had seen had not been harmed by what they had done to him.....not physically, at least. But Brivari had often found himself wondering about what had happened to that child, about how he had made sense of the things he was recalling, or indeed if he had made sense of them. He knew Valeris had chosen that particular donor for Rath precisely because of his spirit, his resiliency, and his willingness to fight back. "A soldier needs those traits," Valeris had said, back when the hybrids were mere specks. "The personality of the human donor is not transferred in hybridization, but the genetic traits which influenced that personality are."

Brivari stepped outside, the door rumbling closed behind him. Perhaps someday he would learn what had happened to Rath's donor. And hopefully the memory of that donor would fade from David Proctor's mind long before he realized that, had his daughter encountered Brivari and his people in an earlier time, her fate might have been much different.



******************************************************



Eagle Rock Military Base



"You really don't have anything to worry about," Yvonne said reassuringly, mentally crossing her fingers behind her back. "I'll be with you the whole time. I'm not as proficient in math as you are, although I enjoyed it very much in school, but....."

"You said it speaks English?" Corporal Keyser interrupted.

"Yes, Corporal," Yvonne sighed. "He speaks English."

"And it looks human?"

Yvonne closed her eyes and prayed for patience. " 'He', Corporal. The prisoner is a living being, and doesn't deserve to be referred to as 'it'. And yes, he looks completely human."

Corporal Keyser pondered this information in silence, as though this were the first rather than the fifteenth time he'd asked those very same questions. Yvonne had been trying to light a fire under Keyser for the past half hour, with no luck. Appeals along the lines of pointing out that his work might very well transform the study of mathematics, indeed had already transformed the study of astronomy, had fallen on deaf ears. Attempts to point out that cracking whatever mathematical code they were dealing with would put egg on Cavitt's face had proven unpersuasive. Keyser continued to sit stiffly in his chair, hugging his rescued papers to his chest as though he feared she would try to wrest them from him. John was going to have a field day with this one.

"I don't understand...." Keyser began.

"What I don't understand," Yvonne interrupted with a touch of asperity, "is why you insist on asking me the same two questions over and over. Is my diction unclear? Do you speak English?"

Keyser blanched, and Yvonne was instantly sorry she'd snapped at him. What was happening to her? Since when was she this impatient with timid people? "I'm sorry, Corporal," she said hastily. "I didn't mean to sound.....the way I sounded. It's just that I keep answering the same questions over and over, and you don't seem to believe me. It's very frustrating."

Keyser leaned in closer. "Your answers don't square with what I've been hearing," he announced.

"Been hearing where? In the papers?"

"Over there," Keyser answered, jerking his head eastward. "Where I'm staying."

The base. So sheltered was she that she sometimes forgot there was a huge Army base literally next door. But certainly those on the base knew this compound was here; they probably just didn't realize the extent of its operations. And come to think of it, there was probably a good deal of speculation as to what exactly was going on over here. "All right," Yvonne conceded. "What are you hearing?"

"I hear," Keyser began, lowering his voice, "that these things—'people'," he amended hastily, as she shot him a warning look, "are really short....and gray and bald and naked, with big black eyes. But I also hear that some of them look human. How weird is that? And I hear that no one has ever heard them speak. Not English, or anything else."

Not far off, Yvonne thought. The description of the aliens native form was accurate, as was their ability to look human. Since almost everyone had been restricted to the compound before John had awakened, no one on the base was likely to know about him, or how articulate he was. Stephen's experiences had most likely been kept very quiet.

"What do those on the base think is going on over here?" Yvonne asked, truly curious now. "They must know it has something to do with aliens because they've got a ship over in one of their hangars, and information coming out of this facility."

"They think the really important debris was taken here for study," Keyser confided. "They know about the aliens that were captured, but they think they died, just like the other two did." He leaned in closer still, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I also hear they have laser beams shooting out of their hands that can blow up fences and kill people!"

" 'Laser beams'?" Yvonne repeated, suppressing a smile. "They do seem to be able to generate some kind of electrical field.....but you have nothing to worry about," she added quickly, as Keyser paled. "We found a medication that shuts off those electrical fields, so the one you'll be meeting can't do that."

Liar. Yvonne still vividly remembered the day last month, right after Pierce's successful bid for power, when John had done something that had amazed her. He had been unusually subdued that morning, something she had written off to all the drugs they'd been pumping into him for the past three days, from Cavitt's tranquilizers to Pierce's stimulants. But then she had said something about her coffee being cold, and he had reached out and taken her cup—not by the handle, but with his hand over the top—and passed it to her. When he'd taken his hand away, the coffee was steaming.

It had taken her a minute to realize what had happened, and another minute to realize why. They forgot, she had thought in shock. They forgot to give him the serum. Corporal Brisson always administered it right after breakfast, but he hadn't administered it yesterday, or the day before.

"Anything else?" she had murmured, still trying to digest the fact that the alien sitting across from her was no longer as benign as he had been...not that "benign" had ever been a good word to describe John. His eyes had flicked downward in response, and Yvonne had looked down at his left hand, resting on his left leg partway beneath the table and out of anyone's line of vision but their own, and watched that hand.....change. It stretched, the fingers lengthening, the skin mottling to a dull gray. It took awhile for him to accomplish this, and when he was done, he looked tired, but triumphant.....and she was staring at the bizarre sight of a human man with a small human right hand and a huge alien left hand.

<This bothers you,> John had said flatly.

"No!" Yvonne had protested, hoping her face didn't reflect the horror she was feeling. "I......I.....yes, it does," she finally admitted, knowing he would take that admission better than a lie. "It just looks......unnatural."

<Changing my shape is as natural for me as walking is for you,> he had commented. <What would you do if you could not walk?>

"I wouldn't like it," she'd answered. "But I'd manage. Lot's of people do."

<I do not like being unable to change my shape,> John had replied. <But I....'manage'.>

A flustered Corporal Brisson had arrived not long after, having obviously discovered his lapse. At the first sight of the syringe, Yvonne had excused herself, not wanting to watch. How would she feel if she regained movement after someone had deliberately paralyzed her, only to lose that movement again? To have to sit there and allow that to be taken from her a second time......she had shuddered inside, busying herself with other tasks and trying to put that thought out of her mind.

Later, when the free alien arrived in her quarters, he was in the highest spirits she'd ever seen him. He was especially delighted to hear that his friend had changed the shape of his hand, something he had apparently not been able to do the night before. <I had no idea his powers would return so quickly!> he had enthused. <This is very good news.>

"Based on the blood tests, it looked like it would take about a week for the serum to disappear from his blood stream," Yvonne had told him, "but that was just a guess, of course. And there was no way to correlate that with the return of his powers. They really don't know what happens when it's stopped."

<And they must never know,> the free alien had said with satisfaction. <Let them think their lapse was harmless.>

And so she had, donning a blank look the following day when it had dawned on Pierce what had happened. "You spend the most time with the prisoner. Did you notice anything, Lieutenant?" he'd asked her, his sharp eyes boring into hers. "Anything at all?"

But Yvonne had come much too far to be intimidated by piercing stares. "No, Doctor," she'd answered. "Not a thing."

"How much did the blood levels drop?" Pierce had asked Brisson, who looked like he was standing in front of a firing squad.

"The level was down by a third," Brisson had answered.

"Strange," Pierce had murmured. "I would think we would have seen some increased brain activity."

"Perhaps it didn't notice?" Brisson offered.

"Oh, he would have noticed," Pierce said confidently. "I'm sure of that. And would have used that to his advantage if there were any way to do so."

"Those preliminary tests were done very early, when you were first adjusting the dose," Yvonne had pointed out. "Perhaps having received it so long means that it takes longer to wear off? Sort of like an addiction?"

Pierce had pursed his lips and tapped his fingers. "Perhaps. Although the pharmacology would suggest otherwise. In the beginning, we discovered that it took several days worth of administration to reach a sufficient blood level to achieve the desired level of suppression. After that, we instituted a maintenance dose to keep the blood levels stable. Cessation should begin an immediate and commensurate reversal."

"But we're not terribly familiar with this class of drugs," Yvonne had reminded him, suddenly thankful for all the reading she'd been doing. "No one really knows why they work, only that certain substances seem to block certain brain functions. There's so much we don't know—cumulative effects could be one of those things."

"Quite right, Lieutenant, quite right," Pierce had answered after musing on that for a minute. "And this means that even if administration is interrupted for some reason, his powers don't simply rush right back. That's good news, of course."

Even if it's dead wrong, Yvonne had thought, knowing full well that Pierce's pharmacology was absolutely correct: Stopping the serum did immediately begin a reversal of its effects. Likewise, when the serum was restarted, it took a few days for John's powers to submerge. This had made him more disagreeable than ever, but pleased his friend, who had noted that a stray dose or two in the withdrawal process wouldn't completely mess everything up.

"Are you sure it—I mean he—can't do the laser beam thing?" Keyser was asking.

"I'm sure he won't do the 'laser beam' thing," Yvonne answered, choosing her words carefully. She'd lied once already, and this was no time to tempt whatever Gods were listening. John could do the 'laser beam' thing, but he wouldn't; he wouldn't risk jeopardizing a long awaited chance for escape. The apparent lack of repercussions from briefly stopping the serum two months ago combined with the general giddiness over all the intelligence they'd been gathering had combined to make Corporal Brisson busier than ever......and more careless. He had grown lax with the security protocols, and the free alien had begun replacing the serum with a harmless substitute. Three days had gone by, with Yvonne on pins and needles, waiting to hear the alarm sound when the switch was discovered. But so far, so good; John's powers were returning just as before, and Brisson and Pierce remained blissfully unaware. In just a few more days, she and Stephen would execute a very carefully outlined plan that would hopefully result in John's freedom—and theirs. The thought of walking out the front doors, feeling the sun on her face for the first time in months....the thought of being free was every bit as intoxicating for her as it was for John.

"One more thing, Lieutenant," Keyser was saying, jolting her out of her daydreams of sunny days and fresh air. "Is it true this facility is on lockdown? Because I won't put up with that. I won't. I mean it. I'll go AWOL if I have to."

Oh, no, Yvonne thought wearily. Please....no drama. They desperately needed everything to run smoothly for the next several days, with no friction, no upheavals. They were so close.....

"We're under restriction," Yvonne said carefully. "Most of us are restricted to the compound unless we have orders to the contrary. But—"

"And what about me? Will they restrict me now that I'm going to see.....him?"

"Relax, Corporal," Yvonne said mildly. "You're forgetting that whatever you discover would have to be taught to all those engineers and scientists over in the hangar, and you'd be the one to do that. Plus you'll need access to the ship itself in order to figure out how it works, so you're safe. You won't be staying here."

And if all goes well, she added privately as Keyser sank back onto the couch in relief, none of us will be.




******************************************************



5:30 p.m.

Proctor residence



David Proctor pulled his car into the driveway, turned off the engine, and climbed out. It was a fine fall evening, not a hint of rain in the air. The weather forecast had originally called for rain tonight and tomorrow, and he was certain every kid in town had been fervently petitioning the rain gods to hold off until Halloween had passed. Looked like they might luck out. Halloween would go on rain or shine, but it was a whole lot more pleasant if one wasn't soaked.

"Evenin', David," a voice called.

Rose Brazel was heading across her yard, wiping her hands on her apron. "I was hoping to catch you before Mac got home," she said.

"Evening, Rose," David replied, smiling. "How's things?"

"Fine, fine," Rose answered.

"Uh-huh. Now how are things really?"

Rose crossed her arms in front of her and sighed. David knew perfectly well that things were not "fine" in the Brazel household. Mac still had his salary coming in for the next ten months, and that was a blessing, but being unemployed was beginning to wear thin.

"I just don't know what to do with him," Rose confessed, not bothering—and not needing to—identify the "him" in her sentence. "He was all right at first. Said he could get a lot done around the house that he hadn't had time for, things like that."

"Most likely he was still in shock," David said sympathetically.

"Most likely," Rose agreed sadly. "He did do a bunch of odd jobs around here; you know he finished Dee's treehouse, and now the one for the Evans boy just this afternoon."

David nodded. With time on his hands, Mac had taken Dee's treehouse very seriously—a little too seriously. He'd added windows and a pitched roof, and then started in on a treehouse for Anthony, something Anthony and Dee had been planning ever since Dee's birthday party.

"Dee and the Evans boy still want to string one of those tin can telephones between the two treehouses," Rose said, chuckling. "I don't know how they plan to find enough string to stretch across three backyards, or rather four, if you count the half of each of their own yards they'll have to cross. But she'll do it. Dee'll find a way. She's a scrapper, that one." Rose paused, her smile fading. "I always thought Mac was a scrapper too, but now......." Her voice trailed off.

"Give him some time," David said kindly. "It hasn't been that long since Mac found out about the sale of the ranch, not really. Not given the number of years he spent there."

"I guess not," Rose said quietly. "It's just.....it's so hard to watch him go through this. I feel like there's nothing I can do to help. None of the other ranches are in the market for a foreman, and now that the treehouses are done, he's going to hang around here all day and drive me crazy." She shook her head. "The one thing he looks forward to all week is your trip to that bar. I'm awfully grateful you go with him, David. I know it's not your kind of place. Normally it wouldn't be Mac's kind of place either, but.....well.....things aren't normal now."

"I'm happy to be able to do something to help," David said. "Doesn't seem like much, really."

"You have no idea how much he enjoys that," Rose assured him.

Good, David thought silently. He certainly didn't wish Mac ill, but there was no denying that without Mac, David would have had a very hard time coming up with an acceptable excuse for frequenting the Klassy Kat Tavern every weekend for the past several weeks.

David and Mac had returned to the Klassy Kat every Saturday night after that first visit on the day Mac learned the government had bought Pohlman Ranch. Privately, David thought Mac enjoyed going there because seeing people who were worse off than he was proved comforting. And every Saturday night, the man the bartender had identified as Charles Dupree was there also, sitting alone at the bar, drink in hand, staring into space. David had watched him every week, mostly from a distance, with the exception of the trips he made to collect more drinks. Whenever possible, he approached the bar right next to Dupree, as though seeing his face one more time would serve to convince him that what he suspected was either true or untrue.

The bartender's sharp eye had noticed the way David always veered a certain way, and generous tips had kept the information flowing. Dupree was young, in his early twenties, and hailed from Tucson. He made the trip to Roswell every weekend, looking for evidence of the abductions he claimed he suffered several times as a young child. Saturday evenings always found him at the Klassy Kat, where he drowned himself in beer before heading back to wherever he was staying. Some Saturdays it had been Mac, David, and Dupree who had closed the place at 2 a.m., and each time that happened, David had attempted to strike up a casual conversation, so far without success. Someday, David thought, someday, I'll think of something to say that will catch his attention. As to what that something would be.....well, he was working on that one.

"I'm glad to have a hand in something he enjoys," David said out loud to Rose. "Especially since....." He paused a moment before continuing. "Especially since I feel at least partially responsible."

"Nonsense!" Rose exclaimed. "What could you have done? No one's to blame for any of this. It just happened. I can't even blame Mitch for taking the government's insanely generous offer for the ranch, or the government for making that offer in the first place. They've been seeing those things for years, apparently, but they'd never actually gotten close to one. I can understand their being curious about—"

"Seen what things for years?" David interrupted.

Rose glanced quickly left and right and took a step closer to David, habits born of necessity back when Mac had been followed by the Army. "The ships," she whispered. "Didn't Mac tell you?"

David shook his head mutely.

"Well.....back when the Army first came for Mac, the night before they found the ship, he overheard that nasty officer—"

"Cavitt?"

"Yes, that was him. Cavitt. Mac overheard Cavitt and Major Marcel, the nicer officer that got blamed for everything, saying that there had been sightings of ships just like that for years all around the world, and that they'd never had the chance to get close to one of them. Mac said they had a drawing that looked just like the ship they found the next morning." She smiled slightly. "That's when he first suspected that you hadn't gone off your rocker."

"Really?" David said, returning her smile even though his insides had turned to ice. "I hadn't heard about this."

"Ask him," Rose advised. "God knows he's got plenty of time to chat. And chatting with you seems to be the only thing he enjoys these days."

"I will," David promised. "I should get inside—Emily will have dinner ready. It was nice talking to you, Rose."

"And you," Rose said sincerely. "And thank you, David."

David headed toward the house, walking slowly, not wanting to arrive before he'd reached at least some sort of inward consensus. They had long suspected that the aliens had been to Earth before, but so far all of them had been very tight-lipped on that subject. Certainly Urza had behaved as though he'd never set foot here, and the rest of them hadn't been much different. But those babies....even back when he'd thought they merely looked human, he'd wondered how they'd pulled that off. And then when Dee had told him they were actually half human, he'd wondered all the more. Still, despite his dreams, he'd been willing to write it off to superior science....until he'd laid eyes on Charles Dupree. That familiar face, so haunted in its current manifestation, had made rationalization impossible. This latest revelation about the ships only made things worse.

Rose Brazel had long been back in her house when David reached his side door at the same time he reached a decision. He would ask Mac what he'd seen and heard, of course. But there was someone else he needed to talk to, someone who could likely shed more light on what was going on here.

Ready or not, it was time for a conversation with Charles Dupree.





~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I'll post Chapter 47 on Sunday, August 28th.

is what will keep Jaddo alive and Ramey in power for the next three years....until it all falls apart.

And don't worry about info that's passed on, like the spatial coordinates for Antar. When Jaddo eventually escapes (as we all know he will), a lot of stuff is going to be....er........lost. And given that this is an extremely covert operation in the late forties, there aren't a lot of copies lying around, so when the info's gone, it's pretty much gone.

Spoilers? I recognize one when I see it LOL Huge spoilerrrrrrrr, thank you so much. *****doing the happy dancing*****

ch 43 - oh my !! The conversation between Anthony and Dee was so overwelming. I could still fear the saddness in Dee´s voice while telling him how she had teached one of the aliens to surrender and the army had shot him anyway.
Poor Dee :

Jaddo´s powers are returning !! yeayy !! wait a minute, I have mixed feelings about this, on one side I want him to be free, on the other hand I don´t want to recall what he would do in the future. No matter which protector he is

mmm Marana , clever woman !!

Oh myyyyyyyy an older version of Michael !! Dupree is in this story also !! you´re great managing little details

ohhhhh it was Amar the puppy, i thought it was Malik, the good one !! : : I don´t like this !!

vecastone: Amar's presence is always cause for worry, even for the people he's working with.

I always wondered how the Army could have held one of the shapeshifters for three years and emerged as clueless as Pierce seemed to be in White Room. And then I thought about it being the late forties, and how there were no copy machines, or diskettes, or CD's, or thumb drives, or anything, really, but paper and carbon copies. And how little of those there would have been given how secret the whole thing must have been. The military could have learned plenty during those three years, and then it all could have been destroyed fairly easily.






CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN



October 31, 1947, 0245 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base




"Wow! Look at'im go!"

"Ever seen a dog jump that high?"

"Walker, you must be some sort of magician!"

Private Treyborn shook his head in disbelief as Private Walker took a mock bow. The little dog scampered around his feet, eager for his treat. A piece of beef jerky was promptly produced and just as promptly scarfed down. Everyone cheered.

Make that quietly cheered. Certainly a lot had changed since that first night Walker had brought the dog in and kept it in his quarters, but the one thing that had not was the need for relative quiet. Even though basically everyone at the grunt level knew about the compound's pet, there was always the risk that Major Cavitt would suddenly show up in the middle of the night, which was not unheard of, or that Lieutenant Spade might do a surprise inspection. Hiding the dog was relatively simple, but hiding a group of soldiers whooping it up in the wee small was not.

"Got another one for you," Walker said, beaming. He held a piece of beef jerky high over the dog's head as the dozen or so soldiers gathered in the mess hall waited expectantly. "Pooch," Walker commanded, using what passed as the pup's name because no one had been able to agree on one, "flip!"

The dog leaped straight into the air just like the last time, a good four or five feet off the ground. But this time, after grabbing the jerky from Walker's hand, it executed a back flip in mid-air and landed solidly on all fours, chewing away.

"Sheesh!" LaBella said, positively radiating admiration. "Either you're a genius, or that dog is."

"It's the dog," Lomonaco deadpanned. "Obviously."

Quiet laughter all around. Walker was too high on the dog's antics to bother swatting Lomonaco. Having finished it's umpteenth treat of the night, the pup began scampering around their feet again, looking for another.

"C'mon boy!" Walker called, producing the communal puppy tennis ball. "Let's play catch!"

"Leave off, Walker," LaBella complained. "You're always hogging him all to yourself. Let someone else have a go."

"But not Treyborn," Lomonaco said. "He gets to keep Pooch tonight, so he can wait."

Walker raised an eyebrow. "Treyborn? That true? Are you finally going to take your turn?"

Every head turned toward Treyborn, perched on a table which had been pushed against the wall of the mess hall, arms folded across his chest. He'd been the butt of many a joke because of his reluctance to take the dog. "Yeah, that's true."

"Well, I'll be damned!" Walker exclaimed. "You hear that, Pooch? You melted the iceman's heart!"

More laughter. "Anyone's an 'iceman' around here, it's you, Walker," Treyborn muttered.

Walker stopped smiling. "Only when it comes to aliens. Too bad we can't resurrect Hitler. He'd know what to do with those things."

"Anyone see that geek Keyser today?" LaBella offered. "I hear he's going down, as in 'downstairs'. Heard he looked like he was gonna puke all over the nurse."

"He'll puke when he sees it, if he hasn't yet," Walker offered. "Hey—d'ya suppose she'll start doing Keyser and the monster?"

This comment was met largely with uncomfortable silence, punctuated by a few shaky chuckles. "Shut up, Walker," Treyborn scowled.

Walker stared at him. "Treyborn, you've got a serious humor deficiency."

"So do you," Treyborn retorted. "You just don't know it."

"You do get a little heavy on that one," Lomonaco said to Walker before he could retaliate. "The nurse seems nice. What'd she ever do to you?"

"She defends that thing down there," Walker said darkly. "That's an offense to me, you, and every other red-blooded human being on the planet."

"Shit, you sweet on her, Walker?" Lomonaco said teasingly. "Jealous?"

"Zip it," Walker ordered, irritated, stalking off toward the other end of the mess hall. The rest followed, but Treyborn stayed where he was, eyeing the dog as it trotted after Walker and the tennis ball he still held. Walker didn't surprise him; Walker was an ass. Always was, always would be. What did surprise him was that feeling he still had about the dog, that niggling feeling that just wouldn't go away no matter how much time passed or how many things happened to give the lie to it.

Certainly the dog had been nothing but good news for the weary soldiers of "Operation Alien", as everyone had taken to calling their current assignment, even though the scuttlebutt was that it was so top secret that it remained nameless even now, two and half months after it started. They were here to keep the place secure, but there was no one and nothing to keep the place secure from. There hadn't been a peep about the escaped alien, whom everyone assumed dead, and Major Pierce's arrangement giving himself sole access to the prisoner had even removed the drama of watching Cavitt and the alien go at it, or the prospect that Major Lewis and the alien would go at it. Restricted to the compound with only the recreation room to amuse themselves, the little dog had provide a much needed, albeit metaphorical, breath of fresh air for all of them.

The current arrangement favored those assigned to first floor guard duty in the middle of the night, specifically those who were off at 0200. Those on that shift had the singular honor of playing with the pup for one hour, usually in the mess hall. At 0300, one lucky soldier, determined alphabetically, got to take the pup back to his quarters until 0530, at which time it was delivered to the front door guards and reluctantly shooed outside before Lieutenant Spade's daily 0600 inspection. It had taken awhile for everyone to rotate through the upper floor and find out about the dog. Everyone had been thrilled about the puppy, and waited impatiently for their turn to be one of the chosen few who got to play with him. No one had expressed concern at its presence, or indeed anything other than absolute delight. No one else seemed to have Treyborn's nagging feeling that something was just not quite right about that dog.

Treyborn couldn't argue that the dog was the perfect pet under the circumstances. The first time they'd kept it overnight, Walker had kept it in his quarters. That had lasted all of three nights; soon the mess hall had been turned into a doggie playland, with the tables pushed aside and the tennis ball LaBella had dug out of his locker in constant use. There being no repercussions, visits to the mess hall had become a regular occurrence whenever the dog appeared, which it did often, showing up about every other night or so. A lookout was always posted, but as Spade tended to make his surprise inspections either right before 0200 or around 0500, bumping into him was not much of an issue. There had been one time when Major Cavitt had returned to the compound at 0400, but the dog was already safely in someone's quarters at that point and was booted out without difficulty at the appointed hour. As long as they were careful, it appeared unlikely anyone was going to find out.

And the dog seemed to know that. It seemed to realize that its safe haven hung by a slender thread, and it behaved accordingly. It never, ever barked. It never ran away. Even its nails seemed to click more quietly on the tile floors.....either that, or now that most everyone knew, its nails didn't sound so loud anymore. And it was endless fun, easy to play with, easy to teach tricks. It was almost.....Treyborn shook his head, knowing what everyone would say if they heard what he was thinking, but it was true: It was almost as if the dog could understand them. It was downright weird.

But he was the only one who felt that way. Everyone else found the dog's uncanny understanding of the situation and easy trainability to be adorable. And why not? Nothing weird had happened. Well, once—that one time back at the beginning of September when he and Walker had brought the dog to the kitchen and briefly lost sight of it. And Walker had insisted he'd seen Treyborn in the hallway when Treyborn knew damned well he hadn't been there. That had been weird. But it had never happened again, and he had written the whole thing off to his own nerves. Now two months had gone by without a hitch, and he had to admit he was enjoying himself. Pool tables and radios and card games only went so far when you had nothing interesting to do, no leave, not even the ability to walk outside and feel the desert sun. Everyone looked forward to the pup now. Even Treyborn.

"0300," someone called from the other end of the mess hall. "Treyborn, you're on." Someone bounced the tennis ball his way. Possession of the dog conferred possession of the ball.

"Use your brains, for a change," Walker called. "Try not to lose it."

Treyborn ignored him and looked at the puppy, standing amidst the circle of soldiers, its eyes on the sad looking tennis ball in his hand. He slid down off the table and snapped his fingers. "This way," he said to the dog, heading for the mess door, pausing when he reached it, knowing that the dog would be right there at his feet. And it was, tail wagging, looking up at him expectantly. Looking happy. Looking like nothing more than an ordinary dog.

Treyborn pushed the mess door open. The dog didn't budge, waiting for him. He walked through the door, the dog trotting after him, and stopped in the hallway just outside. At one end of the hall, the basement door guards waved to him, and at the other end, the inside main door guards made jealous murmurs. Whoever had the dog for the night, even though the "night" was only two and half hours, was widely envied.

The dog was sitting obediently at his feet, waiting for him to move. Treyborn took off down the hall toward his quarters, the pup falling in step behind him, its nails barely making any sound. By the time he reached his quarters, that niggling feeling was doing a lot more than just niggling.

Treyborn closed the door to his quarters after the pup had tripped happily inside, making certain the door latched. He knew he wasn't the brightest bulb in the box. He'd gone into the military because, as his mama had so delicately put it, he "just wasn't college material". Translation: He was too stupid for anyone but the Army to want him, too stupid even for the Navy, way too stupid for the Air Force or the Marines. But he'd always had a reliable gut, and right now his gut was screaming bloody murder.

Turning around, Treyborn faced the dog, which had climbed onto his bed and was waiting expectantly, its head cocked to one side.

"You and I," Treyborn said slowly to the dog, feeling faintly ridiculous, "need to have a little talk."



******************************************************


Copper Summit, Arizona



Malik pressed his hand to the silver handprint which controlled the lower basement door. It swung open and he slipped past, glancing back toward the deserted upper basement and the dark atmospheric chamber. The Leader was asleep, Amar gone, supposedly on one of his "foraging" expeditions which were becoming more and more frequent now. Malik had his own ideas about where he was really going, but no matter; Amar was a big boy, and his absences had proven useful to Malik on several occasions. Tonight was just such an occasion.

Settling himself near one of the tanks, its occupant curled and oblivious, Malik set the communicator down on the floor and held his hand over it. The symbol on top glowed; he held the link for several seconds before pulling back his hand, the glow subsiding. This was their signal: Malik would activate his communicator, indicating that he was alone, and if Marana was similarly available, she would answer. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

They had spoken only six times since that first time last month, and then only briefly. Each was nervous about being caught, Marana more so than Malik because he always had the advantage of initiating the conversations, and he always did so when Amar was away. Amar was gone roughly every other night and usually stayed away all night, but there was always the possibility that he would return early. Of course, given what Malik thought he was up to, there was also the possibility that he wouldn't return at all, but somehow, Malik found it difficult to fret over that. Amar certainly wasn't.

It had turned out that Malik was much more available than Marana. She was able to respond to only about one out of every five attempts, but when she did.....he would never have thought it would be so wonderful to talk to someone from home. He hadn't realized how much he missed that, how isolated he was here. At first it had been strange—Marana was a bioscientist and Malik had been a mere technician, which meant she had far outranked him. But that was another world, a fallen world; in this world, they were co-conspirators, eagerly passing information back and forth, each hungry for news from a forbidden source.

Marana had found few surprises in what Malik had told her. Like most of their people, she had simply woken up one morning and found herself working for Khivar instead of Zan. As a bioscientist who had worked on the project, she was highly prized by the Argilians, and her talents had been put to work immediately on the shells they needed to protect themselves from Earth's atmosphere. She knew about the beings in the tanks nearby, appearing every bit as excited at the prospect of their emergence as he was. The only thing that did surprise her were the details of his own life, the fact that he had a bona fide Earth job in an actual Earth neighborhood, and counted his neighbors as friends.

"Of course they only feel that way because they don't know who and what you really are," Marana had said, echoing Amar. "But still—what does it feel like to be accepted like that? To not have everyone afraid of you? Suspect you? Assume you are untrustworthy?"

"It's wonderful," Malik had admitted. "I could get used to this. Very easily."

Marana had more to tell Malik, and some of it was eye-opening. For starters, the claim that the Covari largely supported Khivar was a stretch, to say the least. According to her, only a handful of Covari had gone over to Khivar prior to Zan's fall. The rest had been shocked by the coup, and an uneasy truce now existed between Covari and Argilians.

"Put it this way," Marana had said when he'd put this question to her. "Few are openly defying him, but I would hardly refer to that as 'supporting' him. We're just not certain what to expect, and he obviously trusts very few of us. So far, he's left everything as it is concerning our people, so we'll see."

"What about the rest of the planet?"

"The rest of the planet has not fared so well," Marana admitted. "There is open resistance which is becoming more organized. Word is that Larak is lending a hand, although no one's been able to prove that. Khivar dissolved the council, took control of communications, and instituted a nightly curfew supposedly to keep everyone 'safe' from these 'threats', but what he's really trying to do is make it harder for everyone to talk to each other."

"Divide and conquer," Malik murmured, remembering the tactics the "Nazi's" used on Earth just recently. "If Khivar has turned on the rest of the population, then it's only a matter of time before he turns on us," he said sadly, shaking his head.

"Don't be too sure about that," Marana said. "Khivar will behave himself with our people, Malik. He knows the consequences of persecuting us. Him, we can kill."

We could try, Malik amended silently. Covari were bred incapable of killing the one who possessed the King's royal mark. There was no way to know if Valeris had successfully transferred that mark to the Zan hybrids, but one thing was certain—Khivar did not have it. That made him vulnerable to a race which could hide in plain sight by assuming virtually any form. Still, Covari could recognize other Covari on sight, so all it would take to foil an assassination attempt was one trusted shapeshifter by Khivar's side.

"If he's taken away everyone's voice by dissolving the council, then it's only a matter of time before somebody assassinates him, whether they be Covari or no," Malik argued. "You can't just bury dissent."

"Why not?" Marana had asked. "Zan was no different, and neither was his father. They were simply more subtle about it."

"Right. Subtle. They turned their enemies over to the bioscientists, never to be heard from again."

Sitting here, waiting in front of the silent communicator, Malik was sorry all over again that he'd said that. Marana had said nothing, but her eyes had flashed; no doubt she was angry at his implication, being herself one of the aforementioned bioscientists. And neither of them had given Zan his due; Zan, like his father before him, had not behaved anything like Khivar was now, preferring instead to involve representatives from all the various factions in the decision-making process, using persuasion rather than aggression when at all possible. Still, Malik was unwilling to just ignore the reality of what happened to many Covari who had dared to speak up, even if Marana was. To her credit, she didn't deny knowledge of what he was talking about. She had simply shut down, signing off soon after, and Malik had waited anxiously until the next communication, wondering if he should ask her outright what she knew.

He had decided to do just that. She had been in a perfectly good mood, displaying no trace of antipathy toward him for his earlier remark, and he was determined to drag out into the open the one subject they were both carefully circling: The reason why he and Amar and the others had left. The reason why a small but significant number of Covari had been unhappy with Zan, a few apparently unhappy enough to support his rival instead.

"The first time we talked, you mentioned that Amar and I and the others were 'scheduled for surgery'," Malik had said, choosing his words carefully. "Are you aware that we didn't volunteer for that?"

"You didn't have to," she'd answered. "You were scheduled for surgical enhancement, not experimental surgery. You've now seen what the Royal Warders can do, so you've seen how successful we'd become. It was decided that the science teams which helped gather the information that made those enhancements possible should be the next group to benefit from them."

" 'Benefit'?" Malik echoed. "That's an odd way of referring to a practice used to get rid of dissidents. An awful lot of them went in for 'enhancement' and wound up dead. Which is exactly how Amar and I expected to wind up if we'd found ourselves the recipients of this so-called 'benefit'."

Marana had been silent for a very long moment, prompting Malik to assume that she'd shut down on him again. But this time, he'd apparently hit a nerve.

"Malik," she'd said earnestly, "Amar is a problem. He was a problem before, and I'm willing to bet he's a problem now. He's far too self-centered and impulsive, he can't—or won't—see the bigger picture, he's immature, and arrogant, and argumentative. And he's simply not a good enough engineer to justify that kind of behavior. The Argilians are going to be very sorry they hired him."

"So you're saying Amar would have wound up dead?" Malik pressed.

"No. Maybe. I don't know," she'd finished in exasperation. "I'm just saying that I can see why he would have been considered a problem."

"And that makes it all right to kill him?"

"Of course not! That's not what I meant!"

"Then what did you mean?" Malik demanded. "Marana, what do you know about this? Was someone after us? What would have happened to us if we'd stayed?"

She had looked away then, up, down, anywhere but right at him. "I don't know," she'd admitted quietly. "I....heard things, but I was never involved in anything like what you're talking about. And I wouldn't have known anyway—I wasn't close enough to the throne."

"And what about now?" Malik pressed. "Things have changed. Can you find out anything now?"

"Maybe," she'd said doubtfully. "I'll try. But the one man who would definitely know is dead."

Valeris, Malik had thought as he sat beside the still silent communicator. Valeris would have known. Marana had signed off shortly after that uncomfortable conversation, and had studiously avoided the subject the next time they spoke. Malik had let it slide that time, but he wasn't willing to do that again. Tonight I ask, he thought firmly. No matter what the consequences—or the answer—he was going to settle the question that had nagged him for the past five years once and for all.

The minutes dragged by. A half hour had passed since Malik had sent his signal. He tried again, waiting yet another half hour after that, but no returning signal came. Sighing, he picked up the communicator and trudged back to his bedroom, vowing to try again the next night.



******************************************************


Eagle Rock Military Base



Treyborn stood with his back against the closed door of his quarters, staring at the little dog sitting on his bed. It's tongue was hanging out, its tail wagging, its eyes focused on the tennis ball in his right hand. No one would ever think it was anything other than an admittedly homely puppy. No one but him, that is. The widely agreed-upon village idiot.

"Okay," Treyborn said, addressing the puppy but looking elsewhere, feeling about as foolish as he ever had in his life—and he had lots of experience. "Here's the deal. I don't think you're a dog. I think...." He paused, swallowing hard. "I think you're an alien."

Now he did look at the dog, watching for some sort of reaction. But what sort? Would it suddenly ooze into something else? Would it throw him against the wall with a wave of its paw like he'd heard aliens could? Or was he completely nuts? No one had any evidence that the aliens could look like animals. But his mama had always taught him to trust his gut—no doubt as compensation for his lack of book smarts—and his gut had never failed him. Yet.

The dog merely sat there during this personal struggle, panting, staring at the ball in his hand as though waiting for him to throw it.

"And the reason I think you're an alien," Treyborn continued, deciding that since he'd already made a fool of himself, why not go the whole nine yards, "is because this is just too damned convenient. I've worked those doors. I know how hard it is to get in here. But becoming a dog......well, that's just damned brilliant, if I do say so myself. It's the perfect way to slip in without suspicion. Maybe the only way."

The dog rolled over on its back with its paws in the air.

"So here's what I think," Treyborn ploughed on. "I think you're the one we lost...the one that got away. And I think you're back to get your buddy out of here."

The dog shimmied on its back as though it needed its back scratched.

"Now, I don't have a quarrel with you or yours. I know the rest of'em would call me crazy, but I don't think you meant us any harm. So it's all right with me if you mosey on down there and get your buddy out. Because when he leaves, the rest of us can leave too. And believe me, we all want to leave."

The dog resumed its sitting position, still staring hopefully at the ball.

"So here's the deal: I'll be in my quarters tonight. And if you want to look like me and go get your friend out, go right ahead. I'll stay here until 0530—that's about two hours from now. You've got two hours to do whatever you're gonna do. After that, I won't be able to cover for you."

The dog cocked its head and raised a paw, like it wanted to shake the way Walker had taught it to.

"So what'dya say? Get him out of here, and we can all go home."

Silence. Treyborn waited, staring at the dog, his back still pressed against the door, holding his breath, waiting to see what would happen.

The dog jumped down off the bed, walked over to Treyborn, and sat at his feet. Treyborn stared at it, his heart beating a wild tattoo in his chest, scarcely daring to breath. Would it kill him? Instead of leaving him in his quarters and pretending to be him, wouldn't it be safer for it if it just killed him? Why the hell hadn't he thought of that? Oh, Lord, I am stupid! he thought desperately. He'd just made an alien an offer it couldn't refuse and signed his own death warrant in the process.

The pup stared at him for a moment, tongue still hanging out. Treyborn's eyes widened in horror as it reached up with its paw, reached up toward him. He pressed his back into the door so hard the knob was probably leaving an impression, and still that paw came closer, closer......

....and knocked the tennis ball out of his hand.

The ball rolled away across the floor of his quarters, and the dog skittered after it, clamping it between his teeth and bringing it proudly back to Treyborn, laying at his feet and gazing adoringly at him, waiting for praise.

Treyborn sagged against the door, sliding down to the floor. Yep. I'm stupid, he thought, more with relief than asperity. So stupid that he was standing here like some madman, carrying on about aliens to a puppy who only wanted to play. "Betcha think I'm nuts, don't you?" he muttered to the dog, who promptly came over and nuzzled him, licking his face, his tail wagging madly. Treyborn scratched him behind his ears, grateful that he was alone and that dogs didn't hold grudges.

"C'mon, boy," he said tiredly, climbing to his feet. "I'm bushed."

Treyborn pulled his boots off and crashed on the bed, not bothering to take off his uniform. The dog jumped up beside him and settled itself down next to him, its head on his leg. Leaning back against the pillow, one arm behind his head and the other absentmindedly scratching the dog's head, Treyborn reflected on how nice it was to be wrong sometimes. It was a little disappointing that his gut had failed him, but he hadn't been looking forward to it being right this time anyway.

Silence descended. The clock ticked. Several minutes later, Treyborn was sound asleep, snoring softly, and something much different than a dog stood beside him, looking down at him curiously.

"Amazing," Amar murmured with reluctant admiration. "They call you stupid....yet you're the only one who can see."

Noiselessly, he headed for the door, pausing just before opening it.

"One more thing," he said softly to the sleeping Treyborn. "You were right, if I do say so myself. Becoming a dog was damned brilliant of me."




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I'll post Chapter 48 next Sunday.

I can´t believe I finally finished catching up .. how were your holidays? Hope you had a deserved wonderful time.

LOL LOL LOL Treyborn was not stupid and Amar could see it... I could imagine the little puppy and Treyborn glued to the door in fear LOL LOL
I feel sorry for him being locked up in the desert.

On to other topics, I hope Marana would return with news and Malik would change sides

vecastone: My holiday's were great except for one stormy day at a theme park. Stormy days are not good times to be at theme parks, just in case anyone was wondering. We now have a new vacation horror story to tell.








CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT



October 31, 1947, 0525 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



The alarm bleeped for the umpteenth time, and Private Treyborn finally reached over and fumbled for the button without opening his eyes. Shit. Dog duty was rough, what with getting only about two hours of sleep. On the plus side, he could go back to bed after he was finished delivering Pooch to the front door guards. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning, looking around for the dog.

The pup was nowhere to be seen.

Treyborn stood up and stretched, taking his time. His room was hardly huge, and the door was latched; it was in here somewhere. Kneeling down, his dog tags brushing the floor, he checked the most likely hiding place—under the bed.

The pup wasn't there.

Puzzled, Treyborn straightened up and looked around. A quick glance toward the door confirmed it was closed. Maybe it wasn't latched? He rose to his feet and checked; nope, the door was securely latched. No amount of scratching would have gotten that thing open. Where could it be? In his locker? But that was closed and latched too. Doubtfully, Treyborn rifled through the few possessions in his locker, finding nothing, not really expecting to.

Thoroughly stumped now, he began a systematic search of his tiny room. He turned out every drawer, his footlocker, and carefully went through everything stuffed under his bed. No dog. By the time he was finished, he'd started to sweat.

I lost the dog.

Treyborn stood in the middle of his quarters, panic beginning to creep up on him. Where the hell could it be? And how could it have gotten out? Dogs didn't just unlatch doors. Unless........Treyborn swallowed, the implications dawning on him. Unless it wasn't really a dog.

Nonsense! he chastised himself a moment later. If that dog had been an alien, it would certainly have reacted when he'd announced he suspected that. There had to be some other reason for its disappearance, and Treyborn's shoulders sagged as it finally hit him what that reason likely was.

Walker. Or someone. Someone had to have come into his quarters in the middle of the night and taken the dog, probably to yank his chain and make him look stupid. And they must have been incredibly quiet; Treyborn possessed the typical soldier's reflexes, able to ignore a normal sound like an alarm clock, but instantly awakening upon hearing anything the slightest bit out of the ordinary, anything that wasn't where it should be. His door opening when it shouldn't have would fit that description. He had no idea how whoever had done it had pulled it off, but no matter: They had. Eschewing boots in favor of silent sock feet, he dressed quickly and took off down the hallway, eyes peeled for the dog at every step. The hall was empty of both soldiers and dogs, and he was visibly upset by the time he reached Walker's quarters.

Not bothering to knock, Treyborn barged in, causing Walker to sit bolt upright in his bed. "What? What is it?"

"No, where is it?" Treyborn demanded, looking around. "Where'd you put it Walker? This isn't funny!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Walker demanded, swinging his bare legs around, still half asleep.

"You know what I'm talkin' about!" Treyborn retorted, kneeling down to look under the bed. "You of all people oughta known this is stupid! What if Spade finds out? Or Cavitt? All your fun and games will be over!"

"Treyborn," Walker said tersely, now fully awake, "tell me what in damnation you're talking about or I'll beat you senseless."

"Where's the dog, Walker?"

"The dog? It's with you, isn't it?"

Treyborn's heart clutched for a moment as he realized Walker really didn't know what he was talking about. But only a moment. He'd just gotten the culprit wrong, that's all.

"Do you mean to say that you lost the dog?" Walker demanded incredulously.

"No, I didn't lose it," Treyborn said angrily. "I latched my door last night, and it was still latched this morning. Somebody took it to make me look stupid. Could've been anybody, but you were tops on the list."

"Why? You do a fine job of looking stupid all by yourself," Walker said sarcastically.

"Whatever," Treyborn said impatiently. "Look—it's gone. And we gotta find it. That's what's important."

Walker glanced at his clock, which read 0535. "You're already five minutes late delivering it," he said angrily, heading for the door.

Treyborn grabbed his arm. "You're not goin' out in your undies," he said, looking at Walker's boxers and undershirt. "The last thing we need is people asking questions. Get dressed. But leave your boots off so we can walk quietly. Just in case."

Walker's eyebrows rose. "Maybe you're not as dumb as you look," he commented, as he pulled on his uniform pants and shirt.

"Gee, thanks," Treyborn said darkly as they slipped out into the hallway. "You're breakin' my heart."



******************************************************



<Excellent!> Brivari breathed, as he watched Jaddo discreetly change the pattern on the cup he was holding, carefully out of sight of the guards. <Can you shift yet?>

<Not completely,> Jaddo said, sounding happier than he had in months. <But nearly. I no longer need to bathe or excrete, although I have continued to at least pretend to do both lest I arouse suspicion. I attempted a full shift in the 'shower' this morning, but it felt odd—I was concerned I wouldn't be able to shift back, so I didn't carry it as far as I might have.>

<What did it feel like?>

<Like swimming through water. Our water, not Earth's water. There is still some resistance there. It reminded me.....> Jaddo paused, remembering. <It reminded me of the very first time I shifted, when I worried I wouldn't make it.>

<That happened to all of us,> Brivari said, <but this is different. You know that now, don't you?>

<Yes,> Jaddo said with satisfaction. <It grows much easier every day. And this is only the fourth day; by the seventh I should definitely be back to normal.>

<I see nothing to prevent that,> Brivari answered, pouring another cup of coffee. <Corporal Brisson not only stopped testing the serum prior to administration, he also began taking all of it from the same storage location, making my job all the easier. Pierce has him typing up notes from all of his 'sessions' with you, so the good Corporal is rather busy at the moment. They're all so enamored of that broken console that they can't see straight.>

<I noticed,> Jaddo said, watching his fingers as they lengthened and shortened. <Pierce has done little in the way of testing these past weeks, which means no more inkblots, thank goodness.>

<Pierce is not stupid,> Brivari pointed out. <His power is a direct result of the intelligence you provide, and since power is what he's really after, it is not surprising that he would concentrate his energy there, at least in the short term. And he's not the only one—they're all doing it. You should see them out there, combing the land around the crash site for a communicator they will never find. I believe I mentioned—several times—that the best way to distract them was to give them information?>

<Yes, yes,> Jaddo said impatiently. <You were right. There, I said it. Happy?>

Brivari stared off into the distance for a moment before looking down at his coffee cup. <No. I will only be 'happy' when you're out of here.>



******************************************************


0550 hours



Private Treyborn strode down a side hallway, LaBella behind him, Walker in the lead, skidding to a halt where the side hallway intersected with the main hallway, all three of them flummoxed as to what to do next. Treyborn knew what was going through the minds of the other two because the same thing was going through his mind: They were running out of time. They still hadn't found the dog, and they were running out of time.

Fortunately, Walker had been far too busy trying to find the dog to bother flaying Treyborn alive for letting it out, something Treyborn still stubbornly insisted he hadn't done. Walker didn't believe him, but LaBella, their next stop after Walker's own quarters, did.

"Shit, Walker," LaBella had said. "Treyborn's a fool, but he knows how to latch a door. Besides, everyone knows what you'd do to anyone who hurts that dog. And that includes losing it. Treyborn's right: Somebody did this to set him up."

"If you're right," Walker had said darkly, "then when I find out who that somebody is, they're going to be in some serious shit."

So the three of them had walked the halls, searching high and low. Plenty more soldiers wanted to join the brigade, but Walker wouldn't let them: Make the search team larger, and they'd attract attention. He insisted everyone stay wherever they should be at this hour, pass the word, and keep their eyes peeled. It had to be on the first floor.

But it wasn't. The front door guards were growing increasingly frantic right along with them as they searched every nook and cranny of the rec room, the mess hall, and the kitchen with no luck. Every time one of them emerged into the main hallway, they'd look down toward the front door and sadly shake their heads. Finally they worked their way down the main hall to the basement stairs, where the guards had been watching the proceedings with every bit as much panic as everyone else.

"All right," Walker said tightly, as they gathered around the guards at the entrance to the basement stairs. The two guards on the other side of that doorway watched through the window in the door, their eyes wide. "Where haven't we looked? Obviously you guys didn't let it downstairs, and those guys..."—he indicated the front door guards—"didn't let it outside, so it has to be here somewhere."

"The only place we haven't looked is everyone's quarters," LaBella pointed out. "It must be in someone's quarters."

"You don't have time to look in every room," Private Vallone, one of the stairway guards, pointed out. "Spade starts around at 0600, and Cavitt shows up soon after."

"We don't have a choice," Walker said grimly, hands on his hips. "We can't just leave it here. If Cavitt finds it, he'll probably shoot it." He fretted for a moment, thinking. "LaBella, Treyborn, and me are off duty, and you'll all be off duty in a few more minutes. We'll all look."

Suddenly the inside stairway guards began pounding on the window, pointing. Everyone turned in confusion toward the other end of the hallway, but nothing was there. Finally one of the guards opened the door. "There it is!" he said excitedly, pointing off to a spot only a few feet away.

And there it was. The pup sat there, tail wagging, happy as a clam, oblivious to all the tension. Treyborn sagged with relief, glad that whoever had been harboring it had had the sense to let it go.

"Here boy!" Walker called happily.

"Where the hell did it come from?" LaBella asked, frowning.

"Doesn't matter," Walker said sharply. "We have to get it out of here now."

But the dog had other ideas. In the time it takes to blink, the dog had bolted forward and slipped through the partially open stairway door. Everyone yelled and lunged for it, but everyone missed, landing in a spectacular heap on the floor, the door banging into the shins of one of the inner guards who was sprawled half in, half out of the doorway.

Walker was up first. "Outa my way!" he yelled, clambering over everyone.

"Wait!" Vallone protested. "You're not supposed to be downstairs! And we're not supposed to let anyone through unless they've been—"

"Then shoot me!" Walker said tersely, barging through the stairway doors, everyone following him. They careened down the four flights of stairs to the basement, reaching a very confused set of guards at the bottom, no doubt flabbergasted that seven people were hurling toward them at breakneck speed, four of whom were supposed to be on duty at the now completely unguarded doorway at the top of the stairs.

"What the......!" spluttered one of them, a Private Oster.

"Where is it?" Walker demanded.

"Where's what?"

"The dog!" Walker said in exasperation. "Where's the dog?"

"The dog?" Oster repeated in alarm. "Why would it be down here?"

It took a full minute to catch them up, during which time Treyborn carefully searched the entire four flights of stairs. No dog.

"Look, it came through the doors at the top! It has to be here!" Walker exclaimed.

"And I'm telling you it isn't!" Oster retorted. "Don't you think we would have noticed? You're not the only one who likes the dog, you know!"

By this time the basement hallway guards were peering through the window, wondering what all the commotion was about. Oster nervously cracked the door open an inch and explained the dilemma. And that's when Treyborn saw it.

The dog was sitting off to the side, its eyes glued to the crack between the double doors through which Oster and the other guard were talking. Treyborn would have bet his saintly grandmother, God rest her soul, that the dog hadn't been there a minute ago, and he had no idea where it could have been. But no matter. The doors at the top of the stairs were closed, and the doors down here were only open an inch or so, nowhere near enough to admit a chubby puppy. Silently Treyborn tapped Walker on the shoulder and pointed, raising a finger to his lips. The dog still hadn't realized it had been made. If they moved quietly enough.........

But they didn't. Treyborn was certain they'd barely moved at all, but the pup was too fast for them. It rocketed through the tangle of legs surrounding the doors and somehow managed to knock them open, disappearing on the other side, knocking Oster over in the process. Everyone piled through the doors into the downstairs hallway, standing there in a confused muddle.

"Where'd it go?" Walker breathed.

"I don't see it," Oster said, puzzled.

"Well, it has to be somewhere!" LaBella protested. "The only place for it to run is straight down this hall, and I don't see it anywhere!"

"Walker, you'll catch hell if they find you down here," Vallone protested. "You should get back upstairs."

"Like hell I will," Walker said darkly. "That dog's been the only reason I haven't grabbed a gun and shot my way out of this hell hole. I'm going. You're the one who should get back upstairs, you and everyone else who's technically still on duty. Your replacements are due any minute, and if you're not there, they'll notice that long before anyone notices me down here. You can help after you're off. Now git!"

Reluctantly, the eight guards still on duty withdrew, leaving Walker, LaBella, and Treyborn alone in the middle of the downstairs hallway. "Vallone's right, man," LaBella said quietly. "Let Treyborn and me look for it. Don't get in hot water with Spade again."

"To hell with Spade," Walker answered, walking away. LaBella shrugged and followed him, Treyborn bringing up the rear.

The halls were empty at this early hour. No one noticed the small dog wedged behind a trash can as they reached the first intersecting hallway, rounded the corner, and ran smack into Lieutenant Spade.



******************************************************



Brivari looked up sharply. <What was that?>

<What was what?>

Setting his coffee cup down, Brivari sat the Healer's form straight in his chair, every nerve alert. <I heard something. A telepathic something. Didn't you hear it?>

<No,> Jaddo answered. <What did you hear?>

<It was very faint,> Brivari answered, still listening intently. <As though it were far off, or the speaker was......unskilled.>

<The Healer,> Jaddo said promptly. <She has yet to demonstrate any further ability in speaking telepathically since that first outburst. Most likely she is beginning to mature. She's probably not even aware that she spoke. You will recall the child's abilities developed in a similar fashion, albeit faster.>

Brivari listened hard for another minute before settling back in his chair. <Yes. That must be it.>

<Why are you here so early today?" Jaddo asked, as Brivari finished his coffee.

<You're due to receive a visitor this morning,> Brivari answered, a faint note of amusement in his voice, <which requires the Healer to be herself for a greater part of the day. The humans apparently tire of their unsuccessful efforts to actually understand the navigation console, so they are sending you an alleged expert in mathematics.>

<She mentioned something about that, although she didn't identify him as an 'expert',> Jaddo said derisively. <We'll see about that. Pierce and his minions have proven hopeless in that department.>

<Pierce and his staff aren't mathematicians, they are healers—or think they are,> Brivari amended. <You might actually get somewhere with this new arrival.>

<Don't bet on it.>

<Simplify the explanation,> Brivari suggested.

<I have,> Jaddo said peevishly.

<Then simplify it more,> Brivari said pointedly. <They are at a standstill, and it is to our benefit—>

<......if they are occupied elsewhere—yes, yes, I know,> Jaddo said impatiently. <If you say that to me one more time, I swear I will go mad.>

<Then don't give me reason to remind you,> Brivari said pleasantly. <The healer has advised me that your visitor is extremely nervous, and has begged my assistance in ensuring you will not—how did she put it? Oh yes. 'Eat him for breakfast'.>

Jaddo blinked. <Please tell me that is only an expression.>

Brivari chuckled, the Healer's face stretching into a wide smile. He was in a good mood; Jaddo was nearly back to normal, the humans were still mesmerized by a single console from their battered bridge, and soon, hopefully, this would all be over.

<I believe she wishes you to display even more kindness than you usually do,> Brivari said, as Jaddo scowled at him. <And it would be wonderful for them to have yet another 'breakthrough' to keep them busy while I get you out of here.>

<How am I supposed to explain our system of mathematics to people who can barely count?>

<Draw pictures,> Brivari said, still smiling, as he gathered up the dishes. <I should be going. Your..... 'guest' should be here within the hour. Do try to behave yourself.>

<You haven't mentioned the hybrids in some time,> Jaddo noted, as Brivari stood up. <When was the last time you saw them?>

Brivari hesitated, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news at such a hopeful moment. Jaddo's eyebrows rose.

<We lost more of them, didn't we?>

Sighing, Brivari sat down again. <We lost the single Rath hybrid, plus most of a complete set; only the Zan hybrid from that set remains.> He paused a moment, watching Jaddo work that over in his mind. <It appears, on purely anecdotal evidence, that the fates of individual hybrids in a set are linked—if one dies.....>

<.....they all die,> Jaddo finished for him, staring into space. <That would be logical. Each set of four was initially housed in a single sac, so whatever befell one, befell them all.> He was quiet for a moment. <It is truly unfortunate Valeris is not here to consult.>

<My goodness,> Brivari said dryly. <There may be hope for the Healer's nervous mathematician yet. You must be in a very good mood indeed to actually be missing Valeris.>

Jaddo's expression hardened. <How can you joke in the face of news like this?>

<Joking is all I can do,> Brivari answered soberly. <And I believe Valeris would agree with that. I distinctly remember him telling me that once this process is started, there is no way to further affect it in a positive way. The process can be hampered, interrupted, as it has been, but there is no way to specifically undo the affects of any insults. Our best set is still in wonderful shape, and the other two look sound. We only need one set. Technically, we only need one hybrid—Zan.>

<Easy for you to say,> Jaddo said bitterly. <Zan was your Ward.>

<That is not what I meant,> Brivari said gently, unhappy at having ruined Jaddo's relatively good mood. <Rath will survive, Jaddo. I feel certain of that. One of the Rath's will survive.>

<And what if none of them survive? We have no way home, what with your tampering with the Granolith.>

<They will survive,> Brivari said firmly. <One set, at least, will survive. And one set is all we need.>

<And you believe that?> Jaddo asked, deeply skeptical. <You really believe one set will survive?>

Brivari did not look back as the guards stepped aside to let him out the door.

<I have to.>



******************************************************



Treyborn swallowed as he saw Walker practically nose to nose with Lieutenant Spade. My God, but they were in deep shit.

"Walker, what are you doing down here?" Spade demanded.

LaBella and Treyborn gaped, eyes wide, as Walker snapped his right hand into a salute. "Good morning, sir," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "I'm well, sir. And you?"

"I'm still wondering what you're doing down here," Spade replied.

Walker said nothing. LaBella and Treyborn exchanged glances, each sporting a face as blank as the other's. No one had bothered to come up with a suitable excuse before charging down here, and since none of them were on duty, finding such an excuse would be difficult indeed.

"I said," Spade repeated, speaking slowly and deliberately, "what are you doing down here?"

"I was not aware that I was restricted to the first floor, sir," Walker replied stonily.

"You were restricted to first floor guard duty," Spade reminded him.

"Yes, sir."

"So you must have a reason to be in the basement," Spade continued. "Which is.....what?"

Spade and Walker faced each other down, while LaBella and Treyborn stood rooted to the spot, speechless. This was not good. Not good.

"I'm going to ask you one more time," Spade said softly. "And if you don't answer, what happens next will be your fault, not mine. What are you doing down here?"

Walker remained sullenly silent. Spade waited what must have been a minute, a full, grinding minute, during which Treyborn was absolutely certain he was going to stop breathing any second. He was on the verge of blurting out the whole thing about the dog and throwing himself on the mercy of the court when Walker actually said something.

"We were looking for Lieutenant White, sir."

Huh? Treyborn looked at LaBella, who looked lost. And then Treyborn saw Lieutenant White approaching down the hall, heading right for them. She'd be here in seconds.

"Why?" Spade demanded.

Walker glanced sideways at Treyborn, whose mind was as blank as a freshly washed chalkboard. Why the hell had Walker said that? He must have seen the nurse in the distance and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Unfortunately, the first thing that had come to mind wasn't the least bit helpful, because Treyborn couldn't think of one reason, good or otherwise, why they would be looking for the nurse. They couldn't even claim illness or injury; under those circumstances, a guard on duty would have fetched the nurse to the first floor. Nope—they were doomed.

The silence stretched out as Lieutenant White came abreast of them, a used breakfast tray in hand. Spade heard footsteps, turned around......and Treyborn saw the deep shit they were in growing ever deeper.

"Good morning, Lieutenant," Spade said to the nurse, who nodded politely. "These soldiers say they're looking for you. Are you aware of any business you have with them?"

Lieutenant White paused, looking them over with that expression she sometimes wore that gave Treyborn the willies. Most of the time she was friendly and open, but other times.....other times she had a look in her eyes that gave Treyborn heartburn. Just like that dog.

"No," Lieutenant White replied coolly, never taking her eyes off Walker, who stared back at her. "What can I help you with, gentlemen?"

"You can answer a question for me, ma'am," Walker replied.

Oh, no! Treyborn groaned inwardly, seeing the look in Walker's eyes. Knowing Walker, he'd decided he was screwed anyway, so he might as well say something asinine, which would make everything worse than it already was. Assuming that was possible.

"And your question is?" Lieutenant White asked.

"Why do you like that thing in there more than your own flesh and blood?" Walker demanded, as Treyborn rolled his eyes. "Why do you defend it—"

"That's enough, Private," Spade warned him.

".....coddle it......."

"I said that's enough."

".....wait on it......"

"Enough!" Spade snapped. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant," he added to the nurse, who was watching Walker with interest, appearing far less perturbed than Spade. "You're all confined to quarters until further notice! Private Sullivan!" Spade barked to one of the soldiers who had appeared, drawn by the noise. "Escort these three upstairs. And if they give you any trouble—shoot them."

Sullivan's eyes bulged, but he obeyed. "Yes, sir," he said in a shaky voice, unslinging his rifle. "You heard the Lieutenant," he added to LaBella, Treyborn, and Walker. "Don't give me trouble, or you'll be going nighty-nite."

"Frankly, that's preferable to being conscious," Walker muttered, turning around and stalking away, LaBella and Treyborn trotting after him, Sullivan skittering to keep up.



******************************************************




Tucked behind a waste receptacle, Amar's pulse quickened with excitement as the female human's shape walked away, surrounded by the soft infrared glow of a Covari. At last, he thought with satisfaction. At last, after weeks and weeks of those insufferable apes petting him, cooing to him, and throwing that disgusting fuzzy ball for him to catch, at last he had something to show for his efforts. There had been times it had taken all of his admittedly limited store of patience not to break the neck of whatever ape he happened to be with at the moment, but ultimately his restraint had paid off. The humans' adoration of the ridiculous shape he now wore had been their undoing, just as he had hoped.

It had been a long road to this point, peppered with untold humiliation, Malik's suspicions, and the humans' frustrating security procedures which, crude though they were, effectively shut him down even after he'd managed to earn their trust so that they took their "pet" inside. And then there was the human who suspected, the one the apes all thought was stupid. The only one who had figured out what he really was. The one who'd said something absolutely fascinating.

"I think you're the one we lost—the one that got away."

It had not been lost on Amar that the apes always referred to their prisoner in the singular. No one had ever mentioned escape, so he had assumed one of the Warders had been moved to a different location, and fervently hoped that it was Brivari who was still here. Last night he had learned otherwise, and the implications had him breathless with anticipation. One of them was free. Assuming that one had survived his escape, either Brivari or Jaddo walked this planet free, and the burning question in Amar's mind was, which one? So burning, in fact, that Amar had thrown caution to the winds and literally flung himself at the doors to the basement, not even bothering to try one of the many plans he'd been concocting to gain access to that very place. In many ways this was better—everyone loved the dog, and all they had seen was a dog slip downstairs. And he had left no human body behind, either dead or sleeping, to give himself away. No, this was much better.

And extremely fruitful, as the past few minutes had shown. Not only did the escaped Warder live, but he was here, moving freely in ways Amar could not. Be it Brivari or Jaddo, they had obviously killed the human female healer and taken her shape, and for a moment, Amar was filled with reluctant admiration. Assuming another's identity so completely was tricky business even for the most accomplished Covari. The opportunities for error multiplied the longer one held a stolen form, which is why few Covari did so for very long. Amar had no idea how long this had been going on, but the fact that it was going on at all pointed to one very skilled Warder.

And also pointed the way. The shape the Warder had assumed must have quarters here. Judging from the way humans liked to segregate their genders, and the fact that the female healer was virtually the only female Amar had ever seen in the compound, it was likely she had private quarters. Private quarters where he could lay in wait.

But was that wise? Amar did not have his energy dampening device with him, having not foreseen being this close to his quarry this soon. It would likely knock out the humans' power system again, but Amar didn't care about that; it would also block the Royal Warders "enhancements", which is all he needed it to do. It had worked beautifully on Jaddo; it would have worked even better if not for that meddling human and that idiotic Malik. Torn for a moment, Amar's eagerness for revenge wrestled with his common sense.

I'll just look, he finally decided, as his common sense drooped in defeat. He needed to know what he was up against. He really should gather more information, after which he had plenty of time to go back, collect the device, and return. In the meantime, he would merely watch, listen, and formulate a plan to capture the escaped Warder. He wouldn't do anything. Not right now. Not just yet.

Honest.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'll post Chapter 49 next Sunday.

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!





CHAPTER FORTY-NINE



October 31, 1947, 0730 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base




"Ready?" Lieutenant White asked brightly, doing her level best to make this sound like an exciting adventure. "Let's go!"

Books clutched to his chest, Keyser followed on the nurse's heels as they approached the guarded double doors at the end of the long first floor hallway which led to the basement stairs. His meager breakfast wasn't sitting well in his stomach, and his arms ached from the stack of books he was carrying. He hadn't been certain which textbooks he'd be needing, so in the end, he'd brought a towering stack, the better to hide behind.

"This is Corporal Keyser," the nurse announced to one of the two guards outside the stairway doors. The guard checked his clipboard for Keyser's name, and for a moment, Keyser held out the hope that he wouldn't find it. Maybe they forgot, he thought, his breakfast settling better already. Maybe he wasn't on the authorized list for some reason and could have another day, just one more day to figure this out without having to do what he desperately didn't want to.

"Corporal Keyser. Yes, ma'am," the guard answered, checking off his name on the list and turning all that breakfast orange juice into a whirlpool in Keyser's stomach. He'd tried to tell the nurse that eating when he was this nervous made him nauseous, but she had insisted he eat something. He'd picked orange juice because it had seemed fairly innocuous. Add that to the list of thing he'd been wrong about lately.

The guard was asking Lieutenant White a question, something about a relative's middle name, and Keyser was seized with sudden panic. What if he couldn't answer his security questions? He'd always had to answer one at the front door when he visited, but those were fairly simple and straightforward; he'd heard that questions for those granted access to the basement were far more obtuse. What would they do to him if he couldn't answer? Would they just let him go? In that case, maybe he shouldn't answer. Maybe the way out of this was simpler than he thought.

"How many siblings does your father have, Corporal?" the guard asked.

"Uh....three. I think."

The guard's eyebrows rose. "Are you sure?"

Keyser looked back and forth from the nurse to the guard, his mouth gaping, his books cutting into his chest.

"This is the Corporal's first visit, and he's a little nervous," the nurse offered. "Corporal, who are your aunts and uncles on your father's side?"

"Uh....well, there's Uncle Raymond. And Aunt Betty. And Uncle Jack. My Uncle Bill died in the war. I never met him."

"So...that's four, right?" the nurse prompted. "Raymond, Betty, Jack, and Bill who died in the war. Four."

"Yes. Four," Keyser said, blushing furiously. So much for him being an expert in mathematics. He couldn't even count his own relatives.

The guard nodded and opened one of the two double doors. Keyser reluctantly followed the nurse through the doors, past the two guards stationed on the other side in the stairwell and down the first flight of stairs. "Do...don't they ask me something too?" he queried as they trooped down the stairs, looking back at the second set of guards.

"No. The guards in front of whatever door you're trying to go through are the ones who question you," Lieutenant White explained. "So it's the guards in the stairwell at the bottom set of doors who'll question us next. When we go back up, we'll be heading in the opposite direction, so we'll meet two different sets of guards at each door.

"And they all have different questions?"

The nurse nodded. "The questions change daily. Different people make the list of questions each day, so anyone trying to gain access would have to compromise someone different every twenty-four hours."

"But what about the guards themselves?" Keyser asked. "Who questions them?"

"The guards going off duty question the incoming guards. And Lieutenant Spade, who's in charge of all the guards, randomly questions guards at various posts throughout the day."

"What happens if somebody can't answer?"

They were approaching the last set of stairs, and the nurse slowed and looked back at him. "I don't know. That's never happened. Yet."

They arrived at the end of the staircase to find—what else?—two guards, standing in front of the double doors to the basement level. The "state-your-name-and-answer-a-question" procedure was repeated, this time causing less angst because the question involved Keyser's mother's side of the family with whom he was better acquainted, the relatives on his father's side being generally odd and best left unclaimed. The double doors opened, and Keyser felt the curious stares of the second set of guards inside the basement hallway as he walked past, hugging his books so hard that the pens in his chest pocket were probably leaving impressions.

"This is the basement level," the nurse informed him, rather unnecessarily. It wasn't as bad as Keyser had feared: Gray industrial tile floors, stone block walls, relatively bright overhead lights. It was brighter and cleaner than most military basements, and Keyser's spirits rose slightly until they passed the first open doorway on the right, where several armed guards were visible playing cards. The first open doorway on the left revealed the same tableau.

"What are those guards for?" Keyser whispered to the nurse.

"To provide security in case someone tried to get down here who shouldn't," she answered evasively, her voice sounding abnormally loud.

"Someone like.....who?"

"Anyone," she said with a disarming smile. "They're just there in case they're needed, Corporal. And they never have been."

They kept walking. The main hallway appeared to mirror the one above it, stretching on forever with shorter side hallways branching off on both sides. As they rounded a left-hand corner into one of those branches, Keyser stopped dead in his tracks. The guards in this hallway weren't playing cards; they lined the hall on both sides, three along each wall and two on either side of a door toward the end, eight in all, each armed with those weird rifles Keyser had never seen before.

"It's all right, Corporal," the nurse said reassuringly. "This is where the prisoner lives, so there are more guards, that's all."

"But....I thought you said you stopped it from doing.....whatever it was it could do before you stopped it," he finished lamely.

"We did," the nurse said gently. "These are just a precaution." She leaned in closer. "You know how Major Cavitt is."

Well, yes, unfortunately Keyser did know how Major Cavitt was; even the mention of Cavitt's name did not help the undigested orange juice in his stomach, now churning like an agitated washing machine. Cavitt didn't like the fact that Keyser was smarter than he was, and he'd apparently decided Keyser was going to pay for that breach of protocol for the rest of his natural life.

"Corporal Keyser to see Mr. Doe," Lieutenant White said to the guard on the right of the prisoner's door after coaxing Keyser down the short hallway with some difficulty. The guard consulted his clipboard, nodded, and reached for his keys. Keyser hung back, still clutching his books so hard that he was finding it difficult to breathe, the pens in his pocket now definitely threatening to meld with his rib cage.

"Are you all right, Corporal?" the guard on the left asked.

Keyser jerked his head up, surprised to be addressed by anyone other than the nurse. For a moment he thought the guard was mocking him, that being standard procedure for bookworms like himself. But the guard, whose name tag read "Thompson", appeared genuinely concerned. Either that, or he was an excellent actor.

"Yeah. Sure. I'm fine," Keyser answered, his head bobbing up and down rapidly. "I've been up all night trying to solve this problem that I haven't been able to solve for a month, my breakfast is about to come up, and I'm deathly afraid I'm going to be stuck here for the rest of my life. But other than that, I'm great. Just great."

Thompson leaned in closer. "Are you familiar with Major Cavitt?"

Keyser nodded wordlessly.

"Frankly?" Thompson confided in a whisper. "I prefer the one in there to Cavitt."

Keyser stared at Thompson blankly. Was that supposed to make him feel better? Most people would prefer Lucifer to Cavitt. At least with the devil, it was nothing personal.

The door swung open; Keyser's feet felt like lead weights as he followed the encouraging nurse. The guards outside the door followed them inside; out of the corner of his eye, Keyser could see two of the other guards in the hall replacing the first set on either side of the door outside, which was closed and locked behind them, the lock chunking closed with a sickening thud.

This room was brighter than the hallway, and Keyser blinked, his glasses fogging slightly because he was sweating. It was a fairly large room, with a long rectangular window set high in one wall that didn't lead to the outside judging from the blackness behind it, and what appeared to be a bathroom at the far side. Sparsely furnished, it sported nothing more than a bed and a table with four chairs. Seated in one of those chairs was a man with hard, dark eyes, arms folded in front of him. He was dressed in one of those greenish suits that doctors wore under their gowns when they operated, and wore an expression which didn't bode well for the future of this interview.

"Corporal Keyser, this is John Doe," the nurse was saying. "John, this is Corporal Keyser. He's here to speak with you directly about your system of mathematics."

Everyone was staring at him. Keyser blinked again, trying to rationalize the absurdity of a uniformed Army nurse formally introducing him to an alien who looked completely human right down to the stare, which was a dead ringer for Major Cavitt's.

The nurse was pulling out a chair, suggesting he sit down. Keyser remained rooted to the spot, staring at the man in the chair, unable to believe his bad luck. As if it weren't bad enough to have a human like Cavitt on his tail, now he had an alien like Cavitt to deal with. This was just too much.

"Corporal?" Lieutenant White said gently, apparently deciding he would benefit from specific instruction. "Why don't you come over here..."—she indicated the table—"...and set your books down."

Books. Down. Yes. That would be good. Numbly, Keyser walked to the table and plunked his stack of books on top, feeling suddenly exposed, as though he'd just dropped his shield.

"Good!" the nurse said encouragingly. "Now have a seat. Go ahead," she added, when he didn't move. "Sit down."

It was at this point that the man in the chair chose to make his first contribution to the conversation. "Sit! he barked suddenly.

Plunk. Startled out of his frozen state, Keyser sat down so fast that his tailbone complained. Stifled laughter came from the guards behind him. The man in the chair rolled his eyes.

But the nurse's lips set in a hard line. Throwing a fierce look toward the door, she leaned over and whispered something into the ear of the man—alien?—in the chair, who looked thoroughly exasperated, but nevertheless let her speak. When she was finished, she stood up and crossed her arms in front of her chest, staring down at him severely, eyebrows raised. All she needed was a tapping toe to complete the picture of a disapproving spouse or parent.

Amazingly, it worked. Sighing, the man in the chair shifted to face Keyser, his hands folded in front of him, his thumbs working as though he were full of nervous energy he just couldn't seem to get rid of.

"I apologize," the man said smoothly in perfect English, sounding at least slightly sincere. "I am merely.....frustrated that all my previous attempts to explain this issue have proven unsuccessful. I am eager to settle this tiresome subject."

For some reason, Keyser got the distinct impression that was a gross understatement. "You and me both," he said with feeling, his voice cracking because his throat was so dry.

"So I'm told," the man said, with a telling look at the miffed nurse. "Then we have that in common, at least. Shall we begin?"




******************************************************



0900 hours




Lieutenant Spade paused outside Private Treyborn's door. He'd already worked over both Walker and LaBella, getting nothing from either. He hadn't expected to get anything from Walker but a lot of lip, but LaBella had surprised him. He had always seemed the decent sort, and his reluctance to provide even so much as a hint of what the three of them had been doing in the basement hallway when they had no business being there was not encouraging.

And LaBella's attitude wasn't the only strange thing. Everyone was acting weird today, jumping whenever Spade came near them, their eyes shifting left and right as though they expected something to leap out at them at any moment. They're hiding something, Spade had decided, after observing this behavior several times. But what? Booze? He didn't find any. A way out of the compound? All soldiers were present and accounted for. Some other kind of contraband? But then why would all of his men be acting this way? Did everyone have this contraband? How could they all have it at once, wherever they happened to be at the moment, be they on or off duty? Spade had ultimately decided that Treyborn was his best bet; he was a good kid, but simple. He might provide the key to the puzzle.

And this was a bad time for a puzzle, no doubt about that. The free alien had been replacing the serum for the past four days, and so far, the ruse had worked. John's powers were returning, and as soon as John was capable of changing his shape, they would carry out the plans that had been made for his escape: Spade and Yvonne would both make themselves scarce so that both aliens could assume their shapes, the tranquilizers in the dart guns would be replaced with an inert substance, and Spade himself would see to it that a convenient distraction would occur at the critical hour. Yvonne reported that John was beside himself with excitement at the prospect of getting out of here, and Spade could sympathize; he was too. All of them—Spade, Yvonne, and both aliens—were chomping at the bit with anticipation of all this being over very, very soon.

Which is why the last thing Spade needed right now was additional scrutiny because his men were going wonky. Reaching Treyborn's quarters, he opened the door without bothering to knock.

Treyborn, who was stretched out on his bed reading a magazine, jumped to his feet and saluted when he saw Spade. Spade returned the salute and pulled up a chair, having already decided how he would handle this. "At ease, Private. Have a seat."

Treyborn sat down on the edge of his bed, eyeing him nervously. Spade leaned forward, elbows on his knees, adopting what he hoped was an understanding expression. "Your name is Walter, right?"

"Yes, sir," Treyborn said tentatively.

"Well, first off, Walter, let me assure you that I understand completely why all of you did what you did. I realize the strain everyone here has been under, confined to the compound as you all are. I understand how bored all of you are. It makes perfect sense that this would happen, even if it is against regulations."

This little speech had the desired affect. Treyborn's mouth opened in a wide "O", his eyes so wide they were nearly touching. "What.....who.......who told you, sir?"

"Doesn't matter," Spade answered, unwilling to finger anyone as having spilled whatever beans there were to spill. "I pointed out to that individual that if I didn't get anywhere with any of you, I'd have no choice but to remand the matter to Major Cavitt instead of keeping it just between me and my men."

Treyborn blanched upon hearing Cavitt's name. "And....is that what you're gonna do?" he asked hopefully. "Keep it between us?"

"I'm not sure," Spade said, treading on dangerous ground now because he really didn't have the slightest idea what he was talking about. "It depends on how much you're all willing to help me out."

Treyborn was silent for a moment, turning all this over in his mind. Spade waited, pondering the fact that this was one time when Cavitt's being such a horse's ass was a good thing; people were willing to jump through all sorts of hoops if they thought that would help them avoid Cavitt.

"Well....okay," Treyborn said doubtfully. "As you long as you make it clear that it wasn't me who told you. I'd never hear the end of it if people thought I told you."

"Deal," Spade said promptly. He wasn't sure exactly how he was going to wiggle his way out of that one, but first things first.

"And you can't hurt it," Treyborn added. "I don't want to see anything happen to it because of us."

Hurt it? What the hell was he talking about? "Of course not," Spade assured him.

Treyborn nodded, apparently satisfied. "So...did anyone find it yet?"

Find it.....so that's why everyone kept looking around furtively. They were looking for something they'd lost, something everyone had lost by the looks of things, something they didn't want hurt. But what something?

"No," Spade said carefully. "Do you have any idea where it would be?"

Treyborn shook his head sadly. "Not exactly. But it's downstairs—I know that much. That's why we were down there. It ran downstairs, and we ran after it. But it wasn't there when we got down there, and then we ran into you."

"Where does it usually hide downstairs?" Spade ventured.

"Oh, we never took it downstairs!" Treyborn objected, horrified. "Never, sir! We only had it upstairs, in the kitchen or the rec room, or in our quarters."

"All right, then. Where does it usually hide upstairs?"

"It's never done this before, sir. Run away, I mean. It's always been so quiet and well behaved. Well, at first......I mean, at the very first, I.....well....." Treyborn paused, clearly embarrassed. "Well, sir, I thought that dog might be an alien. Everybody thought I was nuts. More nuts than usual," he added darkly.

Dog. They had a dog. Had had a dog for awhile, from the sounds of things. And now it was loose, on the basement floor of this compound.

"But I don't think that anymore," Treyborn added hastily. "No one's ever seen them be anything but an alien shape or a human shape, and it's been coming by for so long now that if it had been an alien, it would have done something before now."

"Just exactly how long has it been coming by?" Spade asked, keeping his voice neutral.

"About.....three months," Treyborn said, flipping up three fingers one by one. "Showed up in early August, right about the time Major Pierce locked up the alien and said no one could see it if it didn't work with him."

Early August. Soon after John had been captured, and the free alien had escaped. Spade felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle as, one after another, the pieces of the puzzle settled into place. He wasn't certain the aliens could assume the shape of a dog, but he knew they had already assumed the shapes of birds. If the aliens could squeeze themselves into the shape of a bird, then lengthen and reshape themselves into human form, why couldn't they look like a dog? And what better way to infiltrate this base than as a loved pet, welcomed by all, suspected by none?

"Thank you, Walter," Spade said, rising to his feet. "I appreciate your honesty. I'll keep that in mind when I decide what to do about all this."

"I'll help you look for it, sir!" Treyborn offered eagerly. "It was my turn to keep it last night, and it got out somehow......don't know how, exactly, because my door was latched, and dogs don't unlatch doors. I think somebody let it out to make me look stupid, but I feel sort of responsible anyway."

"That won't be necessary," Spade said, his heartbeat quickening at the mention of the latched door. "I don't want you in any more trouble than you're in already. I'll let you know when I've found it. Dismissed."

"Sir?" Treyborn called as Spade's hand gripped the doorknob. "It wasn't an alien......was it?"

Spade managed a smile as he turned around. "I sincerely doubt that, Private. It was probably just a stray. But it's loose in this compound, and I can't have that. Can you imagine how Major Cavitt would react if he walked into his office and found a dog?"

Treyborn broke into a grin, which then fell off his face so quickly that, had it been a physical object, it would have clattered to the floor. The prospect of Cavitt actually finding the dog was enough to distract him from his earlier question, and Spade beat a hasty retreat, striding down the hallway, lost in thought.

Where to start? It's downstairs, he thought, heading for the basement. Be it a dog or an alien, it would need to move through security checkpoints. He still had no idea how the free alien gained access to the compound, but he did know that he had needed Yvonne's cooperation to learn all the minutiae necessary to get him through the checkpoints while he wore her form. Without human cooperation, the alien—if it was an alien—would find it very difficult, if not downright impossible, to move between floors. So the basement it was.

As Spade neared the basement stairs, he remembered what Treyborn had said about him being the only one to suspect the dog was an alien. And here he'd thought Treyborn was "simple". Perhaps he wasn't so simple after all. Or perhaps being simple meant you still had the instincts so many people let go of.



******************************************************




"But you can't do that!" Corporal Keyser exclaimed in frustration. "I realize mathematics can utilize different bases, but there must be a consistent base, at least within a given area of use. And there isn't. I've tried this six ways to Sunday for the past month, and they're close, but they're different. And math just doesn't work that way!"

"Correction," Jaddo said wearily, grasping at the tatters of his never well-stocked store of patience. "Your math 'just doesn't work that way'. My math does."

"But it can't! You can't—"

"Corporal, let me ask you something. If someone had shown you what you call 'calculus' when you were just learning how to count, how do you think you would have reacted?"

Keyser opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and finally sank back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling. "I'd say you couldn't do that," he admitted.

"Exactly."

"That's a valid point, John, but I don't think that's what's happening here," the Healer interjected. "I've always been good at math, but I'm just as lost as the Corporal, so I'm getting the impression this is a translation error. You're calling your changing base one thing, and Corporal Keyser is calling it another. Is there some other way to show him besides just doing equations? Could you....I don't know, could you draw him a picture, or something?"

Jaddo rolled his eyes, recalling Brivari's words only a short while ago: Draw pictures. He'd been joking, but only half joking; he clearly expected Jaddo to find a way to drive the point home so the humans could indulge themselves with yet another cork-popping party once they understood what they'd turned on. Not that they'd actually be able to do anything of value with the navigation console even after they deciphered it, but that didn't seem to have occurred to any of them yet, and far be it from Jaddo to bring it to their attention.

So he had actually looked forward to this visit from someone who supposedly knew mathematics, deliberately seating himself at the table when he'd heard the tread of the Healer's soft-soled shoes coming toward him, accompanied by one with an awkward and hesitant gait. Jaddo was in a good mood, for him anyway, what with his powers returning and liberation imminent. The news about having lost more hybrids was not welcome, but neither was it unexpected. Besides, Brivari was right: They only needed one set. They would ultimately only have one set, as any others beyond the one that proved their best would be destroyed. And that was as it should be; whatever would he do with more than one Rath? So he had looked forward to settling the mathematics question and letting the humans run off with their treasure, leaving him to recharge and escape in peace.

But any hopes Jaddo had of doing that were dashed when he'd first laid eyes on Corporal Keyser. Keyser had appeared ill, not intelligent; he looked ready to faint, not compute. It looked like they were in for a long haul, indeed, and Jaddo's resulting frustration with Keyser's fear had earned him the Healer's wrath.

"You're not helping," the Healer had hissed in his ear after he'd barked at Keyser, causing him to fall into his seat with such force that he probably injured himself. "He doesn't want to be here any more than you do, but he does want to figure this out, and he is very smart. If you're even half as smart, you'll at least try to calm him down, because the sooner he gets it, the sooner he leaves. And that's what you want—right?"

And Jaddo had shaken his head in disbelief, because she sounded just like Brivari. She was doing that a lot lately, making him wonder if she and Brivari deliberately broadcast in stereo. It was especially annoying when they were right, which was the case now: It was undeniably in Jaddo's best interest to pat Corporal Keyser on the head, help him understand, and send him on his merry way so the humans' celebrations could begin anew, drawing attention away at the critical moment.

So Jaddo had swallowed his sarcasm and done his best. It turned out that Corporal Keyser was well schooled in mathematics, or at least what passed for mathematics in this world's present state of development. Initially nervous and hesitant, he had warmed to what was apparently a favorite subject, rolled up his shirt sleeves—literally—and gotten to work, consulting textbooks, scribbling equations, and passing endless notepads back and forth in a genuine effort to understand. He was focused, direct, and unwavering in his pursuit of the answers he wanted, all qualities Jaddo respected. A guard had been dispatched to fetch a pencil sharpener as Keyser blunted pencil after pencil, and Jaddo resisted the urge to simply reach over and sharpen it for him with powers he wasn't supposed to reveal. A little over an hour later, Jaddo found himself nursing a grudging admiration for Keyser. The man was genuinely trying, and he was no fool. Here was one who would be a pleasure to teach, were the circumstances different.

Unfortunately, all the admiration and effort in the world wasn't going to change the fact that they had reached an impasse—again. And it was the same impasse each time, the ever changing "base", as Keyser called it. Perhaps pictures were in order after all.

Reaching across the table, Jaddo took the pad of paper and the pencil and drew on it briefly. Holding it up, he said, "What do you call this?"

Keyser's face flushed. "Are you getting snotty?"

" 'Snotty'?" Jaddo repeated blankly, searching his scanned database for a reference. " 'Pertaining to nasal mucous'.....I'm not following you."

Keyser blinked, his eyes wide. "John isn't familiar with all of our expressions," the Healer broke in hastily, "especially in cases where there are multiple meanings for words. I believe," she continued, turning to Jaddo, "that the Corporal thinks you're making fun of him. As in mocking him," she clarified, her expression making it clear that she found that a distinct possibility, and that he could expect another tongue-lashing should that be the case.

"Corporal," Jaddo said seriously, setting the pad with the offending picture down on the table, "you are undoubtedly one of the brightest humans I've met thus far. I assure you I am not mocking you, and further assure you that were I doing so, you would know. Subtlety is not one of my strong points. Or so I'm told."

"Oh," Keyser said, looking not the least bit reassured after that speech. "Okay. Well.....what was I supposed to think when you show me something like that?" He pointed to the pad of paper with a dismissive gesture.

"I am merely following the Healer's suggestion that perhaps this is a translation problem. It may seem ridiculous, but let's begin at the beginning and see where communication has broken down."

"That's the beginning?" Keyser asked in astonishment, staring at the drawing.

"Yes," Jaddo said firmly. "Now—what do you call this?"

Keyser sighed and slapped his pencil on the table. "A circle."

"Good. Now...." Jaddo drew another line ".....what do you call this?"

"The diameter of a circle; the distance across."

"Fine. What about this?"

"The circumference; the distance around."

"And what do you call the relationship of the diameter to the circumference?"

" 'Relationship'?" Keyser repeated, frowning. "Do you mean "ratio'? That's called 'pi'. But......" He stopped suddenly, staring at the drawing. "That's it!"

"What's it?" the Healer asked.

"That's it!" Keyser repeated, his eyes shining behind the heavy black spectacles he wore. "But how....why......"

"Interstellar travel requires far more precise calculations than your race has likely had to make," Jaddo explained. "You have probably never had to deal with this value in all its various permutations. These......" He pointed to a set of equations which had previously baffled Keyser ".....lead you to the correct variable of this..." he pointed to the drawing of the circle "....which then allows you to complete the calculations."

"Oh, man!" Keyser exclaimed, beside himself with excitement. "This is huge! This is.....this is......oh, thank you!" he finished, words failing him as he grabbed Jaddo's hand and pumped it up and down with surprising force. "This was the missing piece! I.....oh, God, I have a ton of work to do! But that's okay," he added, dropping Jaddo's hand and stacking up all the books and papers on the table into a precarious tower. "I have to do those calculations, and redo all these calculations, and call the General, and....no, I shouldn't do that until I'm finished because he'll want to come out straightaway. And...."

Still muttering, Keyser headed for the door, waiting impatiently while the guards inside signaled the guards outside to unlock it. He sailed out the door with the Healer in his wake as Jaddo stared at his squeezed hand, wondering anew at the strange customs these humans had. Since when did happiness entail grabbing an appendage and crushing it?




******************************************************



1330 hours



Yvonne closed the door of her quarters behind her and headed for her bathroom. Thanks to Corporal Keyser being a quick study, she actually had some time to herself, the entire day having been set aside for Keyser's visit, with the evening held in reserve if needed. That could happen, as Keyser had mumbled something about maybe "needing to check back" if he had any problems. She had assured him that she would accompany him on any further visits, but any reluctance on that issue seemed to have vanished, lost in the glow of whatever it was he'd discovered. It was amazing, really; she wouldn't have given a nickel for Keyser when he'd first arrived, so scared had he been. She also wouldn't have given a nickel for John's chances of actually being helpful after hearing him bark at Keyser mere minutes after their meeting, but he'd come through too.

"Do I take it that I fulfilled your requirement to 'not eat him for breakfast'?" John had asked when she had returned to his room for lunch.

"You were on your best behavior," Yvonne had answered, "and I didn't even know you had a best behavior."

<Very funny,> he'd replied sourly.

And Yvonne had smiled, knowing that beneath that severe personality lurked someone who respected knowledge and accomplishment, even if he probably wouldn't admit it to God himself. Certainly part of his good humor was his impending escape, but that alone couldn't fully account for what he'd said to Keyser.

"What was the meaning of that strange gesture of grabbing my hand?"

"That was a handshake," Yvonne had explained. "It's a very old way of greeting another person. People shook hands to prove they carried no weapons."

And John had moved his hands ever so slightly so that she could see them, and a series of tiny green sparks leaped from one hand to another. He was smiling with satisfaction, and Yvonne got the point—shaking his hand was no guarantee he wasn't sporting a weapon. His hands were his weapons, in ways the inventors of the handshake could never have imagined.

Flushing the toilet, Yvonne washed her own hands at the sink, mentally going over how she would spend her unexpected free time. She could write another letter to her parents. Or she could go upstairs and see if any of those magazines she'd ordered had arrived. She loved to read, and time hung heavy on one's hands here, so she'd subscribed to about a dozen different magazines, wondering as she did so if anyone would object. But no one had; the magazines had arrived, the bill paid for by the U.S. Army, and much as she loved the medical texts Pierce was letting her borrow, the magazines had proven a welcome respite. There were always newspapers of course, several different ones up in the recreation room, but she found those depressing with all their talk of the stand-off with the Russians and that awful Senator McCarthy and his Communist blacklist.

Shaking the water off her hands, her eyes raked her bathroom wastebasket as she dried her hands on a towel. After that brief burst of paranoia last month when she'd suspected yet again that Corporal Brisson was sneaking into her quarters, she'd taken the precaution of always having something identifiable in her wastebasket and checking her desk religiously. Nothing happened. Both her basket and her desk remained untouched. She would have abandoned her vigilance were it not for the fact that whenever she started to relax around here, something bad happened. Call it superstition, but it did make her feel better.

She turned around, heading for her room, and nearly jumped a foot. Corporal Keyser was standing on the other side of her quarters, staring at her in wonderment like he'd never seen her before. She hadn't even heard him come in.

"Corporal!" Yvonne said in surprise. "You startled me! Did you knock?"

He didn't answer, merely continued to stare at her with a puzzled look on his face, as though he couldn't quite figure out what she was.

"Corporal? Why are you here? Did you need anything else?"

Still no answer. Baffled, Yvonne risked the familiarity of a first name. "Jesse?" she said gently. "Are you all right?"

<You're human!> came a wondering voice in her mind.

"It's you!" Yvonne exclaimed, more than a little annoyed. "Of course I'm human. But what are you doing here now? Has....."

But she stopped because Corporal Keyser's eyes—or what looked like Corporal Keyser's eyes—had widened in disbelief.

<You can hear me!> he exclaimed.

"Of course I can hear you," Yvonne answered a bit uncertainly, a growing uneasiness making her hands suddenly feel clammy even though she'd just dried them thoroughly. "I've been able to hear you for months now. Is something wrong? Why are you acting so—"

Once again she didn't finish. But this time it was because "Keyser" flew across the room, pushing her into the wall, pinning her there with arms like steel, his eyes boring into hers. Eyes which suddenly went completely, utterly black, the false pupil spreading until two pieces of coal stated back at her. Eyes she'd seen before.

"Who are you?" she gasped, as the alien's hand closed on her throat.

"A more pertinent question, my dear," it answered with grim satisfaction, "is who were you expecting? Tell me!" he demanded when she didn't answer, couldn't answer because she wasn't getting enough air. "Which one of them is free?"



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'll post Chapter 50 next Sunday.

Hello and thank you to everyone reading!





CHAPTER FIFTY


October 31, 1947, 1345 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base



"Which one?" the strange alien demanded. "Who got away?"

Pinned against the wall with the alien's hand closed around her throat, Yvonne made a gasping sound which got the point across that he wasn't getting any answers until he at least let her breathe. Slowly, he removed his hand from her throat.

"Which one is free?" he demanded again, still holding her against the wall.

"I...I don't know," Yvonne answered, coughing. "He never told me his name."

The alien stared at her for a long moment, with Yvonne certain that he wasn't going to believe her and kill her on the spot. But he released her, backing away, watching her closely.

"No....he wouldn't have given you his name, would he?" the alien said, more to himself than to her. "Neither of them would have. They're not that stupid." He mused on that thought a moment while Yvonne remained leaning against the wall, trying to catch her breath. "How are you holding the other one?"

"We developed a serum—a medication—that stops him from doing....whatever it is he can do."

"Really?" the alien said in reluctant admiration. "Not bad for a bunch of apes. Okay, so my buddy can't blast anything. That's good news. How do you keep him from turning into someone else like I've done?"

"He can't," Yvonne answered, seriously doubting that John would view this individual as a "buddy". "The serum must block that too."

"Really?" the alien repeated, truly amazed now. "Huh! Wouldn't that be something to get my hands on! Of course, it could be used against me. And it's an inferior approach because it involves contact; my device can be used from a distance."

Yvonne had no idea what he was talking about, and she didn't care. What she did care about was that he had backed up several feet, arms crossed in front of himself, lost in thought. Her eyes strayed toward the door.

"You'll never make it," the alien said, not even looking at her.

She tried anyway. He was there long before she was, even though he was technically further from the door. "Bad girl," he said, wagging a finger back and forth in "no no" fashion. Her arm in a vise-like grip, the room spun by as the alien whipped her around and plunked her down on the bed, seating himself in her desk chair right in front of her, his face only inches away.

"Talk to me," he demanded. "How does this 'serum' work?"

"We don't know," Yvonne admitted, grateful for the second time that she could claim ignorance. "It just works. We're not sure why."

He smiled then, an ear-splitting grin that did nothing to make him look more friendly. "Of course not," he said jovially. "It's nothing short of a miracle that you apes pulled that off at all. And you don't even know what you're doing or how you're doing it. Typical."

Apes. What was it with the "apes" bit? "Why are you calling us apes?" she asked irritably, feeling bolder now that a few minutes had passed and she was still alive. "You're the one who's acting like an ape!"

"You wound me," the alien said with mock sorrow, his hand over his heart. "Now—when are you expecting whoever it was you were expecting when you saw me?"

"I've told you all I'm going to," Yvonne said coldly.

"Oh, no you haven't," the alien smiled. "Not by a long shot." He rose and began walking around the room, hands in his pockets, the very picture of ease. Yvonne remained in the chair, not even bothering to bolt for the door even though she was closer than she had been the last time. She knew it wouldn't work.

"You know, when I first saw him out there in the hall looking like you, I assumed he'd killed you and taken your shape awhile ago," the alien said. "And I was actually impressed. It's no easy thing to replace someone for a long period of time. Very dangerous, that. Very tricky."

He paused, still walking, still completely casual. Yvonne watched him closely, noting the difference in manner and speech patterns. John and the free alien always looked and sounded a bit stiff, sitting bolt upright in chairs, their speech somewhat stilted and formal, although John had begun picking up human speech patterns in spite of himself. But this one was different: His posture was much more relaxed, his speech laced with idioms that could only have been learned through exposure. This one had been here longer.

"But then I saw you in here," the alien continued, "and you were human. So I figured maybe he was taking your form without your knowledge, but it's been so long that even humans would have gotten wise to that. And that leaves me with only one conclusion: You're helping them, aren't you?"

Yvonne said nothing, glaring at him in silence, sorry she'd said as much as she already had. The alien stared at her a moment before breaking into another wide smile.

"Look at you!" he exclaimed in disbelief. "Trying to protect them with your silence! Honestly, how does he do it? Everywhere he goes, even on another planet, he manages to convince people to fall in step behind him, to protect him even." He paused, shaking his head. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. He was always charismatic, in his own weird way. It's a gift, I suppose. Or a curse, depending on your viewpoint. What did he say to you? What could he possibly have told you that would make you sit here, protecting someone who even you should know doesn't need your protection? Someone you barely even know? Someone who won't even tell you his name?"

Hesitating, Yvonne vacillated over whether or not to answer. The last thing she wanted was to give away anything more to this smug intruder. But....it was true that John and the free alien had been less than forthcoming about the circumstances of their presence here. Come to think of it, both she and Stephen had been working overtime to free them, or at least not make their situation any worse than it already was, while the aliens had told them practically nothing. She found herself suddenly seized by a powerful curiosity—what if she could learn more from this one? And what if.....what if she didn't like what she learned?

"They said their ship crashed," Yvonne said carefully, deliberately keeping things simple. "They said it was an accident."

"Yes, I'm sure it was," the alien agreed. "Which just goes to show you that the best lies contain some truth. What else?"

"Well....that was pretty much it," Yvonne admitted.

"And you agreed to help them on the basis of that?"

"Can......can you tell me anything?" Yvonne ventured, introducing a slight note of pleading into her voice. She had a hunch this one liked to show off, to revel in his self-imposed superiority. Given the right opening, he'd probably love to hold forth on how much he knew and how much she didn't.

She was right. The alien promptly plopped back down in the chair in front of her, as she instinctively backed away as far as possible. "Oh, I can tell you plenty," he said proudly, "including plenty you'd probably rather not know. Want to hear it?"

Yvonne nodded mutely. The alien propped his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together, staring at her. "There were four of them," he began, "two of whom died when your military first found them. I know who died, so I know who lived. And while I don't know which of those is captive, only one could lured you into an alliance without providing any information to speak of—Brivari."

He was watching her closely, but Yvonne had never heard that name before. "Who is..... 'Brivari'?" she asked.

"So you weren't lying," the alien said, sounding faintly disappointed. "He really didn't tell you his name, did he?" He gave a snort of disgust, whether aimed at her or this "Brivari" she could not tell. "Brivari is the King's Warder. A Warder is a guardian, a protector. The other one who survived is Jaddo—he wards the King's top military officer, the equivalent of one of your multi-starred Generals."

Yvonne's mind worked furiously, fitting all this into her meager pile of information. Neither of the aliens had even breathed a word about a king, but, come to think of it, the description of their positions made sense. The free alien was the more temperate of the two, more patient, more diplomatic, all qualities a king's guardian would need. And John bore all the hallmarks of typical military impatience and severity.

"I see this is ringing some bells," the alien was saying, a satisfied smile on his face.

"I never heard anything about a king," Yvonne said.

"And why should you have? The King is dead, overthrown by his rival, and his Warders are wanted for crimes against the people. So they fled here, to your planet, because the race which overthrew the King can't survive here. They never planned on me. So, you see my dear, they came here on purpose," the alien went on, enjoying the telling of his tale. "Yes, their ship crashed, and yes, of course they didn't mean for that to happen. But your world was their destination, and they made it to their destination....and not for the first time, I might add. But we'll get to that later."

He paused for a moment while Yvonne watched him. So far, what he'd told her wasn't terribly different from what she already knew. "Our enemies cannot follow us here," Urza had said, although he hadn't elaborated on why they had enemies, "and we did not intend for our ship to crash." They hadn't mentioned a king, but then this new alien hadn't yet mentioned their children in those sacs either.

"So my job is to bring them back, bring them to justice," the alien continued. "And to find something they brought with them, something your military had for a time." He stopped, watching her intently, and Yvonne got the distinct impression that now he was coming to the main point. "A set of sacs, each containing fetuses. Have you seen them?"

"No," Yvonne said truthfully, "but I know your people recovered something the night the first one of them was captured. Whatever they took, we never got back."

"A pity," the alien said sadly. "That would have saved me so much work. Did my colleagues happen to mention what was in those sacs?"

Yvonne hesitated before answering, ultimately deciding that she wanted to see what the reaction would be if she answered the question. "They said it was their children."

The alien burst out laughing, making Yvonne jump. " 'Children'? Their children? Oh, that's a good one! And not entirely untrue, from certain perspectives," he added, still chuckling. "Call it an inspired lie."

Yvonne stared at him blankly. Stephen had seen the sacs, so she knew those were real. And this alien had just confirmed that they did indeed contain "children", or fetuses, as he had put it. But if the "children" in question weren't "their" children—or weren't children at all—then what were they?

"It's too bad everything isn't in one place," the alien was saying. "Terribly inconvenient. But no matter. Part of what I want is here." His eyes glittered. "And you're going to help me get it."

"I'm not going to help you do a damned thing!" Yvonne sputtered.

"Why not? This should be easy. You already decided to help them, on the basis of practically no information, I might add. Which is really stupid, but then you're only human." He smiled as Yvonne's eyes burned. "So if you're willing to help them when they've told you nothing, not even their names, why not help me when I've been such a wonderful source of information?"

"You haven't told me your name either," Yvonne pointed out.

"True," the alien admitted. "But I have told you why I'm here, what I'm doing, and by whose authority. Doesn't that count for something?"

"You also shoved me up against a wall and threatened me," Yvonne said icily. "The others never did that."

"Of course they didn't," the alien said dismissively. "They couldn't afford to. They needed you."

"And you don't?"

"Not the way they did," the alien answered. "I merely need to know how often you visit the prisoner, and any protocols associated with those visits."

Yvonne shook her head. "You are absolutely crazy if you think I'm going to tell you a blessed thing."

The alien sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that. Terribly ungrateful of you, if you ask me. After all I told you.....I guess I just don't have Brivari's gift."

A knock sounded abruptly on Yvonne's door. She opened her mouth to cry out only to find the alien's hand clamped over it again, his arms pinning her down as she struggled in his grasp.

"Lieutenant White?" came a voice from the door.

Stephen! Yvonne struggled harder now that she knew who was outside the door, but the alien's grip was like steel, his eyes fastened on the door. Stephen knocked a second time, calling her again in a soft voice. A few seconds later she heard footsteps walking away.

"Bad idea, my dear," the alien said coldly, his hand still over her mouth. "If I'm captured, the first thing I'll do is rat you out. And do you have any idea what they'll do to you if they find you've been consorting with aliens? I do. And I'll bet you don't want the details."

Yvonne stopped struggling momentarily as she remembered that Major Lewis was still around, prowling the observation room, sniffing for something to do. He'd love an assignment like that, and the alien was right—she didn't even want to contemplate the details.

"I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm afraid circumstances have changed," the alien continued, inching his hand upward to cover her nose. "They might be looking for you now, so I need to let them see you. And since I can't trust you to be smart enough to keep your mouth shut, I'll have to press the point."

Unable to breathe, Yvonne clawed desperately at the alien's hand, to no avail. Just as her lungs began to complain about the lack of oxygen, the fingers covering her nose parted, her first gulp of air carrying a powerful smell, a sweet, pleasant scent that she couldn't place. In seconds, the edges of her vision were growing fuzzy, and sounds were becoming dim and hollow. She felt herself falling backwards, the hand still over her mouth.

"Nighty-nite," came the alien's voice, as her pillow rose up to meet her.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Amar let the human female's body slump onto the bed before recapping the vial and replacing it in his pocket. Good stuff, this....and that was the last of it. It had always worked beautifully on humans, which is why he'd taken the precaution of carrying it with him every time he'd come here. Leaning over, he swung the female's legs onto the bed and tried to arrange her in something that vaguely resembled a natural sleeping position. After a minute or so, he gave up; that had been Malik's job, both retrieving and replacing test subjects. Hopefully no one would check the female's quarters again after they saw her out and about.

Now, what am I going to do with her? Amar pondered, staring at the still form on the bed. He had hidden in her quarters expecting to find either Brivari or Jaddo in her shape, not the human herself, much less a human capable of hearing their telepathic speech. He certainly couldn't leave her awake—she'd made it clear she had no intention of cooperating. Perhaps Brivari had the right idea: Look pathetic and say little.

"I'll have to deal with you later," Amar said softly, caressing her cheek, letting his hand stray downward toward those soft protrusions human females sported on their anterior chests.

A moment later he pulled his hand away, annoyed with himself. He could always tell when he'd worn a given shape too long. It was time to worry when that shape began to look.....attractive.




******************************************************



Corporal Brisson was so intent on the Petri dishes he was examining that he never realized he was not alone until the door to the lab collided with the wall after being abruptly flung open.

"Lieutenant Spade!" Brisson gasped, whirling around and planting himself firmly in front the specimens. "You startled me! What are you doing here?"

"I knocked," Spade answered somewhat reproachfully. "I'm looking for Lieutenant White. Have you seen her lately?"

"Lieutenant White no longer comes to the lab," Brisson said, a touch of impatience in his voice. "As you well know, she was relieved of all medical duties a long time ago."

"Yes, I know that," Spade said, more than a touch of annoyance in his own voice. "But I've already looked in all the usual places and couldn't find her, so it's time to start looking in the unusual places."

"I see. From what I understood, Lieutenant White was assigned to assist Corporal Keyser today, and—"

"Keyser's gone," Spade interrupted. "Has been for awhile now."

"Then I imagine the Lieutenant would have some free time," Brisson said. "Have you tried upstairs?"

"Of course I did," Spade said sharply, taking a step into the room. "Are you sure you haven't seen her?"

"Lieutenant, I really must insist you proceed no further," Brisson protested. "The work that we're doing here is highly classified, and I'm quite certain you don't have the proper clearance to just wander in. I assure you I'm not hiding the Lieutenant under any tables, if that's what you mean."

Spade gave him a withering look. "I don't care what you're doing here," he said curtly. "I'm just trying to find the Lieutenant. It shouldn't be this hard—this place isn't that big." He turned to leave, pausing as he reached the door. "And if what you're doing is so damned 'classified', why the hell don't you lock the door?"

He left, not exactly slamming the door behind him, but coming awfully close. Brisson sagged against the counter, cursing himself for his lack of vigilance. He should have locked the door, would have locked the door if he hadn't grown so comfortable recently, as Pierce's star had risen in the heavens and the implied threat of an incursion by Major Lewis had never materialized. Pierce had been ready to post guards outside the lab doors after the first altercations with Lewis, but Brisson had convinced him not to. "Posting guards is like hanging a sign on the door that there's something interesting in here," he'd argued. "Just beef up the locks on the door, and I'll keep it locked even when I'm there."

Pierce had agreed, and that's the way things had been until just recently. Lewis never came near the lab, no doubt realizing that his leave to be here hung by a slender thread, and Brisson had returned to his old habits of leaving the lab door unlocked. Shouldn't have done that, Brisson thought grimly, turning back to the Petri dishes. Not that Lieutenant Spade was a threat—Brisson had never seen him so much as cross the threshold of the lab before today—but suppose that had been Lewis? What Spade had ignored would be very interesting to Lewis, and he wouldn't need to see much before he'd get the general idea.

Striding toward the door, Brisson firmly turned the cylinders on the deadbolts, hearing all three snap into place with a reassuring click. He mustn't get sloppy now. They were nearly ready to begin the second phase. So far, all of the controversy roiling around the alien hadn't managed to jeopardize this particular experiment, and he wasn't going to be the one responsible for doing just that.

Returning to the Petri dishes, Brisson went back to work, sparing a stray thought for Lieutenant White. He hoped nothing had happened to her. Lieutenant White was the one essential part of this experiment that wasn't locked up in this lab.



******************************************************




"Are you sure you haven't seen the Lieutenant since lunch?" Spade asked.

"Positive, sir," the cook answered. "I'd a'noticed, her being the only gal here an' all. And a mighty fine looking one, too, if you ask me, sir."

"I didn't."

The cook colored. "No, sir. Of course not, sir. I just meant....well....she's very....." The cook stopped, flustered, inadvertently digging himself in deeper with every word.

But Spade ignored him, already halfway to the mess hall door. Yvonne wasn't upstairs, she wasn't downstairs....where the hell was she? He needed her help. Hours had gone by with no sign of the dog, and that was worrisome given that it looked like nearly every grunt in this compound was looking for it right along with Spade. He'd told no one of Treyborn's confession, so no one realized he was looking for the same thing they were. Judging from the furtive pairs of eyes darting left and right, the whispered conversations, and the worried expressions, his men hadn't had any better luck than he had. Which was precisely why he was looking for Yvonne. He hadn't wanted to involve her, but having failed to find the dog, he needed her help. She knew more about the aliens than any human on this base, so if the dog was an alien, she might be able to help draw it out. The last time he'd seen her—or what looked like her—was when he'd found Walker and company on the basement level, and from what Spade could piece together, no one had seen her since her usual scheduled lunch with John.

Spade's mouth went dry as a thought occurred to him—what if that hadn't been Yvonne he'd seen, or the free alien? What if the dog really was an alien, and had figured out that taking Yvonne's shape would be advantageous? Had it had enough time to reach that conclusion? But if the dog was an alien, it had been coming here for almost three months, and coming inside for the last six weeks; there was no telling what it had learned from listening to all the soldiers gabbing. On the other hand, it could just be a stray dog that was having a good old game of hide and seek with the people who fed it.

Heading back downstairs, Spade went straight to Yvonne's quarters. Maybe she hadn't heard him knocking; she may have been in the bathroom or taking a nap. He needed to be sure before he jumped to alarming conclusions, something that was looking more and more likely as time went by and the dog wasn't found.

"Lieutenant White?" Spade called, knocking on her door. Nothing.

"Lieutenant?" he tried again, knocking more firmly this time. Still nothing.

Hesitantly, Spade tried the door. It was unlocked. He opened it a crack and peeped inside.

Yvonne was curled on the bed, her face turned away from him. Spade almost melted with relief when he saw her. All this fuss, and here she was just sleeping. Slipping inside, he closed the door quietly behind him. He hated to interrupt her nap, but this whole dog business was making him jumpy.

"Yvonne?" he said softly, walking up to the bed. "Yvonne?"

She never moved. Cautiously, Spade stroked her back, not wanting to startle her. Still, she didn't move.

She must be really out, Spade thought, deciding that additional tactics were necessary. However tired she may be, the current situation took precedence.

"Yvonne?" he said loudly. "Yvonne, wake up." He shook her more firmly this time, causing her to roll a quarter turn onto her back, her arm flopping to one side like a rag doll.

Spade stared at her a moment, a horrible suspicion creeping over him. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he shook her violently.

"Yvonne? Yvonne!"




******************************************************



"Good afternoon again, Lieutenant," the guard outside the prisoner's door said pleasantly as he unlocked the door.

"Good afternoon," Amar answered, returning the smile, slipping his hands into the pockets of the human female's uniform because they were shaking with anticipation. No further checkpoints; once one gained access to the basement, one's identity was not subject to the constant scrutiny which had proven so bothersome in the past.

The door swung open. The Warder was inside, sitting in a chair with his back to the door. Amar's borrowed face broke into a wide smile as he remembered what the female had said: His enemy was not only deprived of his "enhancements", but also trapped in one form, and human form, no less. This was almost too good to be true.

<You will be pleased with the outcome of this morning's meeting.> Jaddo's voice.

The door closed behind him, leaving them alone. Amar slid the female's form into a chair as Jaddo looked at him quizzically. <What are you doing here? I didn't expect you back so soon.>

<No,> Amar answered, enjoying the way Jaddo's eyes widened in surprise. <I don't imagine you did.>


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'll post Chapter 51 next Sunday.

Hello to everyone reading!




CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE


October 31, 1947, 1400 hours

Eagle Rock Military Base




"Good afternoon," Amar said in physical speech for the benefit of the guards, the stolen Healer's voice grating in Jaddo's ears as he stared in disbelief. No! How was this possible? What were the odds that this rogue would reappear on the eve of his escape?

<Aren't you glad to see me?> Amar asked, that maddening smile looking odd on the Healer's face. <I must admit I'm glad to see you in such good health. Khivar wants you alive and well, at least initially. I was afraid these idiot humans had messed that up.>

Jaddo felt a crackling sensation as power surged through him, fueled by an anger so intense it threatened to betray him. Much as he would like to fry this sarcastic upstart, revealing even so much as a hint of his rapidly returning abilities would bring the humans' complacency to an abrupt end, along with his chance of escape.

<For goodness sake, Jaddo, say something! The apes will get suspicious if we don't talk to each other.>

<How did you get in here?> Jaddo whispered, the tingling feeling worsening as he spoke.

<I meant out loud,> Amar said, <so they can hear you.>

<How did you get in here?>

Amar sighed. <Must I do everything myself?> He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and offered it to Jaddo. "I have a few more things for you to check over," he said out loud. "I'll wait while you look."

Wordlessly, Jaddo took the paper and unfolded it; it was blank. It was a ruse, a way for them to speak privately so the guards wouldn't think it odd that they didn't appear to be speaking at all. <I repeat,> Jaddo ground out, slapping the paper down on the table, <how did you get in here?>

<It's a brilliant story, and I'd love to tell you sometime,> Amar said impatiently, <but you need to look at that paper, or even these fools will figure out something's up.>

<And why should I care if you're apprehended?>

<Because if I'm caught, you lose your precious nurse,> Amar said casually, crossing one stolen leg over the other, <which means your visits from Brivari will cease. Then you will be truly alone in this wonderful place. Is that what you want?>

<You expect me to believe you haven't already killed her?>

<I considered it,> Amar admitted, <but I was pressed for time. Besides, if she's dead, she's no longer useful. Oh, she'll tell him, I know,> he added, smiling. <Don't fret. I can subdue Brivari as easily as I subdued you.>

<You didn't 'subdue' me,> Jaddo reminded him angrily. <You were nearly spent, and you know it. It was your associate who brought our confrontation to an unfortunately premature end.>

Amar frowned. <I'd have to agree with you on the 'premature' bit. But we're getting off topic. I have not harmed your nurse. Obviously you'll just have to take my word for that. If you reveal me, I'll pass along what she's been up to recently. And even if you kill me before I can do that,> he added, as Jaddo's hands twitched at his sides <she will still be under such scrutiny that Brivari's visits would end. I'd be captured, of course, or dead. But somehow I imagine that would be poor payment for such a great loss.>

Even greater than you think, Jaddo thought sourly. Revealing such a huge security breach would likely have the same effect as revealing his returning powers—any chance for escape would vanish like a puff of smoke.

<I see we understand each other,> Amar said with satisfaction. "I really need you to look at this," he said out loud, pushing the piece of paper in Jaddo's direction.

<As soon as I am free, I promise you will be the first to die,> Jaddo said angrily, snatching the paper with such force that a corner of it tore. One of the guards shifted uneasily from side to side.

<Oh, please,> Amar said dismissively. <You are in no position to make threats.>

<Neither are you.>

<I haven't threatened you. I've merely pointed out the unfortunate consequences of certain choices which are admittedly yours to make. And I understand you're running low on choices these days,> he added, watching Jaddo closely. <Is it true that they've blocked your powers and trapped you in this form with some kind of drug?>

Jaddo's eyes flicked up from the paper, but he said nothing. Amar's eyes widened. <It is true! How long have you been in this form?>

<Too long,> Jaddo said shortly.

Amar leaned forward eagerly. <And has anything changed?>

<Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?> Jaddo demanded.

<It does make a good one in the current circumstances, don't you think?> Amar replied, smiling as Jaddo's eyes burned. <But no—I was referring to the stories Covari dissidents tell. They've long believed that our physiology changes once we stop shifting. Rumor has it that once one retains a form for a certain length of time, synaptic pathways begin to form. It's said that some who stopped shifting achieved the ability to smell and taste....even procreate. I've never met anyone who stayed in one form for any length of time, so I was wondering—>

<I can't believe you risked exposure in enemy territory to inquire about ridiculous rumors,> Jaddo interrupted coldly.

Amar's eyes hardened. <I 'risked exposure' to see how you like being a test subject. And to see if your opinion has changed now that you have suffered the same fate as me.>



******************************************************



His heart pounding, Lieutenant Spade shook Yvonne several more times, her head lolling from side to side, her hair spilling from the clip that held it before finally realizing that this particular strategy wasn't doing any good. Stunned, he stepped back from the bed for a moment, staring at the limp body in front of him, his mind racing wildly as he struggled to keep a lid on his panic. Focus, he ordered himself severely. Dredging up the memory of his cursory medical training, he went over her head to toe. Yvonne's pulse was normal, her breathing even, her color good. She had no visible injuries, her pupils were reactive to light, her skin warm to the touch. Granted she was still unconscious, but she didn't appear to be in any immediate danger. And now that his heart wasn't beating a mile a minute, he could sit down and think clearly about what to do.

And what should he do? His gut reaction was that this unnatural unconsciousness was alien-induced, and the missing dog no dog at all. Much as his brain told him to summon Dr. Pierce at once, his instincts told him that Pierce wouldn't be able to figure this one out. Furthermore, he wasn't certain what would happen to Yvonne if this was alien-induced and Pierce—or Lewis—found out about it. That scenario conjured images Spade would rather not think about.

Spade sat for several minutes pondering the myriad possibilities before reaching a conclusion. Yvonne did not appear to be in need of immediate medical aid, so it seemed safest to simply leave her here for the moment, crazy as that sounded. In the meantime, he was going to have a chat with John. There was very likely an alien out there right now wearing Yvonne's shape, and John would know best how to find another of his people. He might also be able to tell Spade what had happened to Yvonne without exposing her to Pierce and company. The fact that whoever it was hadn't killed her outright was encouraging—perhaps this new alien wasn't an enemy, but a friend come to rescue them.

Spade did his best arranging Yvonne in what appeared to be a comfortable position on the bed, covering her up with the bedspread in case she got cold. He gave her one long, last look before slipping out into the hallway and heading for the prisoner's room. Getting in could be a bit sticky; Spade wasn't on the "visitor's list". Still, he was in command of the men guarding the room, so that should count for something. He'd have to pay the piper when Cavitt found out, but he was talking to John come hell or high water.

He had a cover story all worked out as he approached John's room when one of the guards outside broke into a smile.

"There you are, sir! We've been expecting you."

Spade stopped short. "Expecting me? Why?"

"We heard you were looking for Lieutenant White," the other guard explained, unlocking the door. "She's inside."

Spade had exactly four seconds to digest the ramifications of that statement before the door opened, and he found himself staring into a very familiar pair of eyes.



******************************************************



<You were not a test subject,> Jaddo said flatly.

<Thanks to my quick thinking and defection, no, I wasn't,> Amar retorted. <But I was slated to be. Perhaps we should finish the conversation we started all those months ago in that air vent. For the second time, subjects for medical testing were not all volunteers, or defectives, or criminals as we were told. Some of them were particular specimens the bioengineers wanted. Some of them were targeted because they had enemies in the wrong places. And some of them had been branded troublemakers, with the labs a convenient way to get rid of them. I think that's what happened to me.>

<Really?> Jaddo said sarcastically. <I can't imagine why.>

<Do you deny it?> Amar demanded, the Healer's face coloring. <Do you deny that Zan used the biosciences division to silence people?>

<I had nothing to do with biosciences,> Jaddo said impatiently. <That wasn't Rath's domain.>

<So you deny it!>

<I can neither confirm nor deny something I have no knowledge of!> Jaddo snapped. <And if Zan did behave as you say, then his strategy failed, as evidenced by the fact that you are still here.>

<Only because I was smart enough to run!> Amar said angrily. <I—>

Voices were heard outside, a key turned in the lock, and the door swung open to reveal a single soldier, staring at both of them wide-eyed.



******************************************************



Spade stood frozen to the spot, staring at a version of Yvonne that was perfect to the last detail. Every button on her uniform, every freckle on her nose was in place, right down to the tiny birthmark on the back of her right hand. Had he not just left Yvonne's unconscious body lying on her bed, he would have accepted this facsimile without hesitation.

But Yvonne was lying on her bed, which meant this Yvonne was an alien. But which alien? The free alien took Yvonne's shape on a daily basis, and even Spade wasn't privy to their schedule. Was this alien friend or foe?

One glance at John gave Spade his answer. John had never been noted for being good natured, but the burning hatred in his eyes surprised even Spade. This was no rescue mission; this was one of their enemies, quite possibly the same one who'd come after him before. And given that John had a fair number of his powers back, it must be very hard indeed to sit there and not use them.

The three of them stared at each other in silence while Spade frantically tried to decide what to do. How could he get the alien out of here? And what should he do with it after he'd accomplished that? They were so close to springing John, and springing John meant springing everyone else here, including himself. The last thing Spade wanted was to mess that up. This sudden arrival was horribly inconvenient.

"There you are, Lieutenant," Spade said, reaching a decision and walking into the room, plastering as realistic a smile on his face as he could manage. "Major Cavitt wants you in his office ASAP."

A flicker of very un-Yvonne like annoyance crossed Yvonne's features. "I trained them myself," the free alien had said of their alien enemies. Either the free alien wasn't much of a teacher, or the alien taking Yvonne's shape wasn't much of a pupil.

"I'm not quite finished here," the fake Yvonne said. "I'll be along shortly."

"Negative," Spade said firmly. "Major Cavitt wants you there pronto. I'm to escort you to his office. Please," he added, gesturing toward the door.

For a moment, Spade didn't think the alien was going to comply. John eyes were practically bulging out his sockets, but unfortunately there was no way for Spade to reassure him that he knew this was not Yvonne. John would have to wait for an explanation. Right now, Spade just wanted to get this imposter out of here, pin it to the wall, and make it fix Yvonne. The million dollar question was how to make it do that. Know your enemy....that was the first rule of any battle. As the seconds ticked by with the alien apparently still weighing an answer, Spade reflected on what this particular enemy feared most—exposure.

"Is something wrong, Lieutenant?" Spade asked solicitously. "You look......"—he paused, allowing the words to hang suggestively in the air—"you look different."

There. That was definitely alarm he saw in those stolen eyes. Spade was willing to bet that telling these people they looked "different" was high on their list of insults.

"Are you feeling all right?" Spade continued. "I know you weren't feeling well yesterday. If you like, I could take you directly to Dr. Pierce for a medical exam and make your excuses to Major Cavitt."

"That won't be necessary," the alien broke in, its voice cold. "I'm fine, Lieutenant. I will of course accompany you as requested."



******************************************************



"So," Spade said to the fake Yvonne as she—it—fell in step beside him as they walked down the hallway, "are you feeling better today?"

"Yes," the alien replied shortly.

"Any more symptoms?"

"No."

Spade's eyes darted left and right, his mind drifting from the lame conversation as he tried to decide the best place to bail. He couldn't take it upstairs because that meant going past the checkpoints. The alien seemed to be thinking along the same lines; he could sense it growing agitated as the double doors at the end of the hallway loomed into view as they rounded a corner. It had seen firsthand what would happen to it if it were captured. That was a card Spade intended to play.

There. An empty room on the right, the door mercifully windowless. People would probably see them going inside, but that was a risk he had to take. "In here," he instructed, opening the door and ushering the fake Yvonne inside. "Major Cavitt is waiting for you through the door at the other end of the room."

It headed for the other side slowly, as if it sensed something was afoot. Spade closed the door and unslung his rifle, waiting.

"What door?" it said irritably after a cursory investigation revealed nothing but bare wall.

"Turn around," Spade ordered.

The alien turned, allowing Yvonne's beautiful brown eyes to widen in shock when it saw the rifle pointed right toward it. "Lieutenant?" it asked in a perfectly pitched, frightened female voice.

"Let me save us both a lot of time," Spade said grimly, keeping himself planted firmly in front of the only way out of the room. "I know you aren't Lieutenant White. I know what you are. I know how you've been getting into this compound. And I know you did something to the Lieutenant, which is why she is now unconscious in her quarters. So—you are going to tell me, right here, right now, exactly what you did to Lieutenant White and how to undo it. Or I'm going to pump you so full of knock-out juice, you won't wake up for a week."

The look of astonishment in the brown eyes never wavered. Perhaps he'd been wrong about the caliber of pupil this alien had been. "Lieutenant," it breathed, sounding genuinely panicky, "what's come over you! You're talking nonsense! I—"

"Don't insult my intelligence!" Spade hissed, raising the rifle further. "Answer me!"



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Amar kept the Healer's face appropriately horrified while seething inwardly, cursing his fate. What were the odds that he would encounter not one, but two humans with enough working brain cells to figure this out? The overwhelming majority of the humans he'd met didn't have any intelligence worth insulting, so of course he had to be facing one of the rare exceptions. It didn't help that the human was blocking the only exit, and that attack at such a distance would likely prove unsuccessful.

"Don't try it," the human said suddenly. "You're too far away. I can shoot you before you get here. Sure, you could kill me, but would that really make you feel better when you woke up the same way you just found your friend?"

"He is not my friend," Amar said angrily, dropping all pretenses, furious that this annoying human seemed to always be one step ahead of him. "He is my enemy!"

"I don't give a shit about your social life," the human retorted. "Just keep in mind that if you try to take me out, you'll wind up bunking here permanently. And you've probably figured out that you'll be staying in whatever shape you're in when I shoot you. Do you want to be a woman for years? Or a dog?"

He knows. So that ruse would no longer work. But no matter. Amar's main quarry was free and reachable. Removing Jaddo from this place was secondary. Let him rot here as long as it took to bring reinforcements from home.

But Amar had no intention of rotting with him. He knew from personal experience how potent the human sedative was, and he had no intention of going through that again. "What do you want?" he asked the human carefully, keeping a wary eye on the rifle.

"I want you to undo whatever you did to Lieutenant White," the human answered.

"And what do I get in return?" Amar asked, walking slowly to his right, vying for a better angle with the door.

Click! The sound of the rifle cocking made Amar stop. "One more step and I shoot," the human said firmly, raising the rifle higher.

"Shoot, and I won't fix your precious Lieutenant."

"Oh, yes you will," the human replied stonily. "When they wake you up, they'll get that out of you, and a lot more besides."

Abruptly, Amar shifted to a male form. Shifting usually alarmed solid species on his own planet; it should leave a human downright terrified. But it didn't have the desired effect; the human paled visibly, but held his ground, the rifle still pointed straight at him.

"You never answered my question," Amar said impatiently, truly out of options now that instilling fear had failed. "If I help your girlfriend, what's in it for me?"

"I'll get you out of here without your being caught," the human answered.

Amar snorted softly. "And you expect me to believe that?"

"Add that to the list of things I don't give a shit about," the human said sharply. "Either help the Lieutenant, or you check into the Humanity Hilton. Those are your choices—make a decision!"

Amar's throat tightened in anger at the commanding tone, but there was little he could do while trapped in this room. He had to get out, and in order to do so, he had to agree to the human's terms. "All right," he said in a more conciliatory voice, hoping the soldier might let his guard down just a bit. "My freedom for your Lieutenant's life. It's a fair trade."

No dice. The soldier remained as suspicious as ever. "Change back to Yvonne's shape," he ordered.

Amar complied, making it a point to shift more slowly this time, drawing out every facet of the transformation and noting with satisfaction how the human's face paled again.

"Now—we're going to walk to her quarters," the soldier said, his voice remarkably steady given his white face. "Once we're there, you'll undo whatever you did. And then, and only then, will I escort you outside."

"And no one will wonder why you're holding a weapon on one of your own people?"

"I always have my weapon," the soldier answered, "and you'd best keep in mind that there are at least fifty other soldiers between you and the great outdoors, all with rifles like mine. Don't pull anything."

Amar considered this in silence for a moment, noting the one thing the soldier seemed to have forgotten. Then he nodded. "I see your point."

"Good. Move."



******************************************************



Spade walked stiffly down the hallway, the alien beside him, his rifle pointed at what he knew was an odd angle. That couldn't be helped, and hopefully no one would notice. Unfortunately, the alien had been right—there was no way he could escort "Lieutenant White" to her quarters at gunpoint without raising a lot more than just eyebrows. Fortunately, the sedative wasn't fussy; the dart could land anywhere and still be effective. Which is why his rifle was now pointed at the alien's ankles, two moving targets that made aiming difficult.

The alien seemed to have made its peace with their bargain because it walked steadily along, heading toward Yvonne's quarters without benefit of direction, making no move to escape. It felt downright weird to be walking next to "Yvonne" when it wasn't really Yvonne.

"I know you," the alien said suddenly, Yvonne's voice sounding strange in Spade's ears. "You're the fool who destroyed my device when the one you now hold was captured." It shook Yvonne's head. "I will never understand why my associate didn't kill you when he had the chance."

"If that's true, then you're the one who knows damned well just how effective this sedative is," Spade retorted softly. "So shut up and keep walking, unless you want to find that out all over again."

"What fairy tales did my esteemed colleagues tell you to win your trust?" the alien continued, ignoring him. "Stories about their ship accidentally crashing, and trying to save their children?"

"What makes you think they won my trust?"

"Did you know that the one who escaped has been making regular visits to the one you now hold by taking your nurse's shape?"

It was looking at him curiously, and it seemed to draw its conclusions immediately. "So you did know. And yet you've kept it to yourself. Which means you're protecting them."

"That doesn't mean I trust them," Spade replied shortly.

"No, but it's in the same ball park, isn't it?"

Spade shot a curious glance at the alien, watching it stride easily down the hallway, a bland expression on its face. "Ball park"? This one's speech was different; it used human expressions much more easily than the others. What did that mean?

"Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?" the alien asked. "The two you protect are wanted for serious crimes on my world. I've been charged with apprehending them and bringing them to justice. Judging from that recent party you call 'World War II', that's a concept you humans seem to like. The tales I could tell you—"

"......wouldn't make me trust you any more than I do them," Spade interrupted firmly. "Look, I don't care about your politics. Or their politics. I don't know what they're supposedly accused of, and I don't need to. What I do know is that whatever you think they did, they didn't do it to me. I just want to get the one we've got out of here. After that, I don't care if you people blow each other's brains out. Go settle your differences somewhere else, and leave us out of it."

The alien has raised Yvonne's eyebrows at this speech. "Then we each want the same thing. Which means I'm agreeing with an ape. Must be a cold day somewhere."

"We're here," Spade said coldly. "Open it."

They had arrived at the door to Yvonne's quarters. The alien put his hand on the door.....and abruptly collapsed into the shape of a dog.

What the hell? Spade's rifle dropped, pointed squarely at the panting dog at his feet. His finger was on the trigger when someone called, "Lieutenant! Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"

Confused, Spade looked up. One of his men had rounded the corner and was staring at the dog, a wide grin on his face. He could have sworn the dog was grinning too, and now that Spade knew it wasn't really a dog, he caught a hint of something else: Triumph.

Of course! How could he have been so stupid? Practically the whole compound knew about the "dog", had been enjoying the "dog" for the past three months now. Everyone was looking for it, no one would want him to shoot it—it was the perfect disguise, the perfect way to get hustled out of here without having to lift a finger on Yvonne's behalf. Oh, no you don't! Spade thought grimly, cocking his rifle. If he had to sedate it and lock it in his own quarters, that thing was not getting out of here until it had helped Yvonne.

"Wait!" the soldier was yelling. "I can explain! It's just—" But he never got any further because the dog took off, scampering away just like the puppy it looked like

"Stop that dog!" Spade yelled, hurling himself down the hallway after it, his rifle at the ready.

The soldier hesitated, looking back and forth from Spade to the dog as it hurtled past him, its nails scratching as it slid around the corner. Spade watched the soldier glance down the main hall, toward the double doors leading to the first floor, and realized in horror what was about to happen.

"Open the door!" the soldier shouted, glancing back at Spade, who was bearing down on him like a freight train. "He's gonna shoot it!"

Damn it! Spade barreled around the corner to see the guards at the doors swinging them open for the dog, now only yards away. "Close the doors!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, heedless of who heard him.

His men ignored him. Of course they did. What they saw was an armed soldier chasing a puppy they'd all grown attached to. In their eyes, they were merely saving the life of an innocent animal, and he mentally cursed his idiocy for not recognizing how easy it would be for the alien to escape in dog form.

The double doors were open now. One of the guards was calling upstairs, telling them the dog was on its way, while the other was urging the puppy along. "C'mon, boy! C'mon! We won't let him get you!"

The dog was almost to the door. It was now or never.

"It's not a dog, it's an alien!"

Startled faces turned Spade's way. He saw Private Thompson poke his head out of a side room and stare at him curiously as he went flying by. Revealing the dog as an alien would shut down John's escape attempt, but there was no other alternative. If that thing got away, Yvonne might never wake up.

The brief moment of indecision ended. "He's just saying that to make you stop it!" someone yelled. "Let it go!"

"No! Spade screamed, as the dog flew through the doors and headed up the stairway, the guards moving to block Spade's path.
"Don't shoot it, sir," one of the guards begged. "It's just a puppy. It—"

"It's an alien, you idiot!" Spade hollered, smashing into the wall of guards before they got the doors shut, sending two of them sprawling as he hit the stairs at mach ten. Taking the stairs three at a time, he finally came within sight of the doors at the top of the stairs. Make that the open doors at the top of the stairs, helpfully held wide to let the dog through.

"Catch it!" Spade shouted, pelting through these doors as he'd done below, his lungs threatening to burst. "Stop it!"

Spade realized he wasn't going to make it long before the dog reached the set of doors that led to the outside world. Soldiers were spilling out of the mess hall and the rec room to see what all the noise was about. Bleary-eyed men from the night shift were sticking their heads out of their quarters, taking a few seconds to process what they saw but reaching the same conclusion as everyone else already had. Cries of "go boy!", and "this way!" echoed down the interminably long hallway as Spade continued to plead for someone, anyone to stop it.

A knot of well-wishers suddenly slowed the dog down. Scrambling for a way between the forest of legs, Spade saw it look back with fear in its eyes. He put out a burst of speed, narrowing the distance between them by a fair amount. The first set of doors at the end was now open, but he was getting closer......

"Move back!" someone called. "Let it through!"

Someone opened the outside doors as the dog came closer, Spade practically on its heels now. Warm October air poured in as the dog skidded through, Spade right behind it. He might still be able to catch it even if it got out. It couldn't risk changing its shape right in front of everyone, so it would have to stay a dog at least until it found a hiding place in which to change. If he was really lucky, he might have a few seconds to.......

Bam! Spade fell to the ground, the wind knocked out of him as whoever he had just run headlong into also hit the ground beside him. Shit! Swearing under what little breath he had left, Spade's heart sank as he watched the dog scamper a safe distance away, stop, and turn around briefly, staring at him with a maddeningly triumphant expression.

"Lieutenant?" growled a voice in his ear.

Spade turned......and blanched. Sitting beside him was none other than a very disheveled Major Cavitt, who was staring at the puppy, now heading right for the fence.

"I imagine," Cavitt said in a strained voice, "that you have a good explanation for this, Lieutenant?"



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'll post Chapter 52 next Sunday.

Heyyyyyyy !! How dare you??? How dare you stopping there??? I wouldn´t let you go on vacation ever again, cause you returned meaner than ever....

Sorry for my delay, though here I am. I was three chapters behind so I´ll began there.

The Lost puppy Oh my !! I despise that alien. Fortunately, Spade knows the truth and I am sure he will help Yvonne. Where´s Brivari ???? He were suspicious when he thought he had heard something "telephatic".
I laughed when all the men were looking like crazy for the little puppy. Pity them !! Spade´s way of knowing the truth was awesome. Treyborn is so naive Adorable !!!

The Aliens .. I am lost here. The way you described Brivari´s and Jaddo´s feelings towards the loss of the pods, has nothing to do with the aliens I remember ( Cal and Nasedo ) .. I can´t wait to read WHAT will you come up with to change upside down their behaviour.

I am really hoping they could make their escape safely, i know they will , though I can´t help to feel so nervous about them. I am concerned also about Yvonne and Spade safety. Has already been two years since they captured Jaddo ?? ***sigh****

ok, now I have to go because I am at work though I´ll be back to read the new update !! Hurry !!!
{{ hugs}}}

Oh my !! Oh my !!! Please don`t jeopardise Jaddo`s scape ***ahhh***

Amazing update !! Wonderful !!

Spade was great with Amar, I know Jaddo realized Spade knew about the alien.
This chapter was an adrenaline rush !! all the way till the puppy managed to escape.

My guess is that Spade will take back his words, what do you think??
Otherwise, this will turn all their lives a living hell ... much more security, much more restrain ..

Hurryyyyyyy !!!